Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn
by Proud to be Plug
Summary: To understand the light, you must travel through the darkness. Cyrus Wright begins his path through the shadows and confronts new realities in this, the first book of the Piece of Darkness series.
1. Chapter One

**Preface**

This fic has been in gestation for some time now. After much delay and alteration of schedule, it is finally here. I'd temporarily abandoned it, and there are several reasons why I took it up again, one of which is, quite simply, my readers. Those of you who have read (and, in particular, reviewed) my writing help me remember one of the reasons for fanfiction, which is to tell a story. For this, I thank anyone who has ever, and will ever, read my work.

This is the first story of a five-book series, a series which is entitled "Piece of Darkness". This entire fic is fully written and edited, and I intend to update every week, most likely every Friday.

This fic takes place in the same universe as my first multi-chapter fic, Rise of the Forgotten. This series will be written in such a way that you won't have to read Rise of the Forgotten to understand the series, but you will have a deeper appreciation of the series if you read that fic, which is kind of like a prequel to Piece of Darkness.

Also, Piece of Darkness takes place in an alternate timeline where Heroes of Olympus never happened. The Roman camp does not exist, and the new characters introduced in HoO do not exist either. The war with Gaia did still happen, but it took place over the course of a year or so, and was not as (hopelessly) dramatic as HoO is shaping up to be. In this timeline, the war with Gaia happened the year after The Last Olympian, and then this story takes place about three years after that.

If you have any questions about the series, don't hesitate to mention them in a review or a PM. I will answer some, but I will not be giving away any spoilers.

Well done if you made it through that prohibitively long preface. Now, enjoy the fic, and please review!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun. **

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

_In the beginning the Universe was created._

_This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move._

_–_Douglas Adams, 'The Restaurant at the End of the Universe'

* * *

He handed me the bronze-plated tape recorder, gazing at me steadily as I took it.

"This needs to be done," he said quietly. "If we don't survive this, if our return to the battle fails, we need to leave a record, so anyone who takes up the task knows the truth, instead of the history that _they've_ made."

I sighed, turning the recording device over and over in my hand. I really didn't want to re-live all the experiences of the last couple of years, but it seemed like I had no choice. I knew more about the war than anyone, and if I died - which, by all modes of logic, clearly should have happened by now - what I knew would be lost.

The white light of the lamp at the centre of the chamber was reflected by the mirrors that lined the walls. It created an almost eerie effect - not a single crevice in the room had a shadow. We sat in a solid, light-filled box.

Even here, hundreds and hundreds of miles from the stronghold of our enemies, we couldn't be too careful. Things had gotten so bad since the fall, we could trust no-one - even ourselves. Every single demigod at the camp said, "They'll never get me," but after what had happened to some of our best half-bloods, it became impossible to be certain of anything.

That's why this chamber was our only truly safe harbour. No celestial being, no monster, and no half-blood could enter it undetected, and nothing could monitor us when we were in there.

I glared around the room angrily. How disordered and screwed-up had my life become that the only place I felt completely safe was inside something that looked like a low-budget fun-fair attraction? I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt relaxed, the last time everything had been orderly and calm. I didn't have a life, none of us did - we barely had an existence.

Perhaps reliving the events that had brought things to such a dark place would help me find some form of understanding, some kind of refuge from the chaos. Maybe it would make me see some solution, some brilliant scheme that would end this accursed war.

"All right," I said resignedly, taking a sip from my flask. "Where do I start?"

He grinned at me, his glasses catching the white light, making him look even crazier than he really was. "Where else?" he said. "The beginning, of course."

I nodded, and clicked the recorder on.

* * *

My name is Cyrus Wright. I am one of the leaders of a beleaguered resistance movement, a movement which is the last hope for the salvation of Western Civilisation.

That sounds hopelessly melodramatic, but it's the truth.

What follows is an account of the events that took place before and during the war which reduced us to hiding in huts and running from shadows. It is as accurate and clear as possible, barring minor details.

This is a long story: one of war, death, pain, and betrayal.

The ending to the story is still being written, but I fear that it is an ending which will be written in the blood of my friends. We have found a safe haven, but none of us know if we will wake up one morning to find ourselves being overrun by the enemy.

It all began upon the night before the last day of eighth grade.

* * *

I woke with a start.

Immediately, I felt the beginnings of a headache start to throb at the back of my skull. Groaning softly, I rubbed my eyes, before checking the time. It was barely six in the morning.

I burrowed back under the covers, hoping to coax myself back to sleep, but it was no use. My mind had started to race, thinking about tomorrow, thinking about the summer, and thinking about my inability to have a normal dream.

I lay there stubbornly for half an hour or more, refusing to accept the inevitable. It wasn't until my muscles started to get stiff from being in one position for too long that I gave in, and threw back the bedclothes. I half-fell, half-rolled out of bed and over to the chair by the window. I slumped onto it, and sat leaning to one side like the Tower of Pisa.

This was the third night in a row that I couldn't sleep. I wished I could pretend it was nerves because of exam results, or excitement for the onset of the holidays, but both were lies.

The truth was, I was dreading the summer. I was dreading the three long months of almost pure loneliness. Three months with next to no friends. It wasn't that I was a social outcast, or some kind of pariah. I got on well enough with people - it was just that I never seemed to get on well enough with anyone to actually make a friend. Maybe it was down to my compulsive way of always saying what I saw, even if it meant being hopelessly tactless.

My parents were great, sure, but who wants to spend the summer helping their father run the grocery store?

I sighed, and glared at the chessboard.

It had been a birthday present two years ago. It was a proper set - hand-carved wooden pieces, a folding wooden board, and a carry case - and it sat atop a small fold-up table in front of my chair. The two pieces of furniture were by my window, which looked out onto the street. I spent many hours here, studying the mechanics of chess, watching the people of New York go by outside. Often, I imagined that I was watching a vast game of chess unfold, with more pieces and moves than anyone could ever grasp.

I picked up the white king, inspecting it. Why couldn't life be as simple as chess? No complicated relationships to negotiate, no unexpected surprises or challenges, no mysterious rules and regulations. Only patterns, logic, and order.

My grip tightened on the piece as I scowled. That was a stupid question. I knew _why_ life was disorderly and endlessly frustrating. The real question was, how the hell was I supposed to deal with it? How could anyone? I closed my eyes as a veritable army of emotions rolled up and laid siege to my mind.

Then I shook myself. No wonder I was practically friendless. Sitting around angsting all day wasn't going to get me anywhere. I had to at least _try_ to think positive.

I knew I wouldn't be getting back to sleep any time soon, so I stood up and put on my bedside lamp. Then I took down a beefy book on the technicalities of chess from a shelf, and sat back down.

I couldn't make life orderly and pragmatic, but I sure could make a chessboard orderly for a couple of hours.

And if for those hours I was alone and nothing else mattered, I guess that meant life was orderly for a while, too.

* * *

The sunlight woke me up about two hours later. At some point during my reconstruction of a classic old chess maneuver, I'd fallen asleep.

I didn't waste any time in getting up and dressed. As my dad always said, it didn't do to mope, and the only way not to mope is to move.

When I'd finished dressing, I made my way over to the kitchen.

We lived over my dad's grocery shop. My parents owned the building - it wasn't a huge place, but there was room enough downstairs for the shop, and upstairs was big enough to live in. It was only me and my parents, so we had plenty of space.

The kitchen was empty and silent. I could hear the usual quiet activity downstairs, as my dad finished setting up for the day and the first customers started milling in and out.

I poured myself a cup of tea from the pot. Most people had coffee in the morning - I always had tea. Ever since I'd visited England the previous year, I'd been convinced that I was a British soul trapped in an American body.

My mom trudged into the kitchen. We exchanged brief, muttered good mornings, before falling silent again. She slumped into a chair and poured herself some coffee. We ate our breakfast in a familiar silence. Neither of us were morning people, and we both had our ways of dealing with the trauma of having to get out of bed.

Finally, as I finished my toast, my mom said, "How are you feeling? Looking forward to the end of school?"

I shrugged noncommittally. As you may've gathered from my earlier angsting, I felt pretty gloomy about it, but I have this thing where I won't come out and say how I feel right away. It usually takes a bit of pushing to get me to open up, particularly when it comes to something personal.

(I get that from my dad.)

"What does that shrug mean?" my mom asked playfully. "Happy? Sad? Severely depressed? Psychologically injured?"

I smiled slightly, and rolled my eyes. My mom, the writer. She never failed to find a way to use words to, if not cheer me up, steer me away from actual misery.

I looked at her carefully as she took a sip of coffee. She even _looked_ like a writer. Brown hair, airy blue eyes that seemed to detect and examine almost everything. She didn't have an imposing figure, no big physical presence, but there was something about the way she held herself that made her stand out.

"Mixed emotions," I finally answered. "I'll be glad to be on holiday, obviously, but the summer is going to be a bit quiet."

She nodded sympathetically. "I know it's hard. But, you know, when I was your age, I wasn't exactly the centre of a thriving social circle, either."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's hard for someone to make friends when they can't stop seeing the true _depth_ of the world around them."

I frowned. Did I mention that my mother had a penchant for the cryptic? She almost always found a way to say things in the most convoluted way possible. Sometimes it was funny, but sometimes it got on my nerves.

(Then again, people keep telling me that I'm pretty damn cryptic too, so perhaps it takes one to know one.)

Mom was looking at me owlishly through her glasses, waiting for me to either work out what she meant or ask what she meant. Not being in the mood for puzzles this early in the day, I said, "What do you mean?"

"Look at it this way," she said. "Imagine that dealing with other people is a kind of complex game."

"Yeah?" I said slowly.

"And that game has rules, pitfalls, and shortcuts," Mom went on. "Now imagine that how you play that game depends on how well you understand the mechanics of the game."

I nodded.

"Cyrus, someone like you sees how things really _work_ a lot more clearly than most," she said.

"How do you know that?" I asked.

Mom smiled. "Because I'm the same."

I opened my mouth to reply, but I heard my dad coming down the hall.

"Louise?" he called, pushing open the kitchen door.

"Yes, Pip?" Mom said, getting up.

My dad's full name was Philip Wright, but my mom had a fascination with Charles Dickens, and so she called Dad "Pip," after Pip in "Great Expectations."

"Would you mind doing the last few baskets?" he said. "I'll have a cup of tea."

That was a very sophisticated and coded way of saying, "I'll have a chat with Cyrus and try to cheer him up if you give us a few minutes."

It never ceased to amaze me how parents, no matter how clever they are usually, always thought that their children couldn't understand them. It's as if, when they have kids, a switch gets flipped in their mind, and they assume that anyone younger than them gets everything wrong by default.

Mom closed the door behind her, and Dad sat down. I gathered myself, trying to look a little less miserable.

My dad wasn't as noticeable as my mother, despite being several inches taller. His hair was brown, like his eyes, and he usually had a slightly disgruntled expression, as though he was mildly disappointed with humanity in general. On the other hand, he had a great sense of calmness and immovability, like a weather-worn boulder, which was unlike anything I saw in most adults.

Dad poured himself a cup of tea. He didn't actually drink tea in the mornings, which made his code all the more transparent. It occurred to me that perhaps the reason for not saying things outright was not to conceal them from me, but to make sure I didn't feel too awkward.

I got ready for the opening small talk.

"The weather's pretty good," he said cheerily.

"Yeah," I murmured. "Best day in a while."

"Hopefully it'll be like this for most of the summer," he went on, demonstrating his wonderful talent for subtlety.

I rubbed my eyes, and yawned.

"I know it's hard for you," Dad said suddenly, changing tack rapidly and characteristically. "Being able to see things in a different way, seeing things that most people don't. I know it's caused you a lot of problems."

"That's for sure," I muttered darkly.

"Your mother has the same thing. I'm not going to patronise you by saying that it's like that for a reason or some such nonsense," he said. "Life isn't some sort of poetic story with fate and destiny determining how we live our lives. I'm not trying to be a curmudgeon, but the reality is that the world _sucks_."

Dad paused. I watched him carefully.

"The fact is, some people are born with the ability to run really well, or write well, or design well," he continued. "It doesn't mean that's what they're destined to do, and it doesn't determine who they are. Sure, it affects them, but it's just _there_.

"That's the way you should look at how you are. It's simply something you have. And as for your social life, you have to stop looking at it as something miserable that happens to you. Instead, look at it as a challenge."

He came to an abrupt stop, as he usually did. It was as if he hopped onto a speeding train of thought at a random point, and then suddenly leaped off it at another random point five miles down the track.

Still, I saw that what he was saying made sense. It was brutally pragmatic - my dad's views usually were - but it cut through the emotion and presented a brighter prospect.

Dad picked up his cup of tea, peered at it, then put it down again, and stood up. "That's my philosophical lesson for the day," he said, cheery again.

"Are you teaching economics 101 next?" I asked drily. "Or maybe the dynamics of politics?"

"Nah," Dad said, shaking his head. "I'll stick to teaching the vegetables how to stack into a pyramid properly."

With a quick smile, he left the kitchen. I sat back in my chair, feeling a little less angsty and a little wiser for the conversation.

I jumped as the kitchen door creaked open again and my dad stuck his head back in.

"And don't forget," he said. "For God's sake, you're only thirteen! Don't start getting so glum so soon, or you'll be worse than a ghost in a Russian graveyard by the time you're seventeen!"

I laughed. My dad also had a love for writing, though he wasn't hopelessly cryptic like my mom (thank God), but tended to be lightly humorous. My parents together were like some kind of Dickensian double act.

With a nod, he disappeared, and I set about getting ready for school.

A few minutes later, I finished up breakfast and got ready to leave. I said a hurried goodbye to my mom, who was already at her computer working on whatever bizarre but clever novel idea she had. Then I made my way down the back stairs, to the door into the store.

I opened the door, looked into the shop, and nearly collapsed from fright.


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

* * *

_"You best start believing in ghost stories, Miss Turner. _You're in one_."_

_–_Hector Barbossa, 'Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl'

* * *

First, there's something you should know about me.

All my life, I've been able to see strange things - and when I say that, I don't mean that I hallucinate, or that I have strange visions. I literally _see_ bizarre things in front of me almost every day.

It's not just me - my mother has it too, though to a lesser degree. I liken it to wearing an extra pair of glasses that enable me to see deeper into everything. There's the normal surface level, the stuff everyone sees, and then there's the level where the monsters lie. There, the creatures from stories and legends walk among the normal people.

Not everything I see is a monster, though. I have seen a few amazing things, but not many. Unfortunately, the dark and ominous side of this hidden reality is far larger and more noticeable than the bright and cheery side.

Of course, seeing such things every day all your life will have the obvious and understandable effect of leaving you pretty desensitised. Imagine that every time you look out your bedroom window, you see a Thing with snakes for legs, or an Abomination with wings and claws and scales. Sooner or later, you're going to stop staring in disbelief and start shrugging your shoulders in resignation.

However, what I saw when I walked into my dad's shop was drastically different to anything I'd ever seen before.

Standing at the counter, waiting for my father to serve him, was a dark-haired guy wearing a leather jacket. He looked about sixteen, but his almost-black eyes were a window into a mind that was far too old and far too angry.

That wasn't the scary part, though.

Surrounding the guy, wrapped around him from head to toe, was a strange coat of shadows. It was mostly pure black, but here and there a flash of blue or a spark of purple could be seen rippling through it. It writhed and churned a little, and tapered out behind him, leaving a trail several feet long.

The teenager himself seemed completely unaware of it.

When I'd taken a few steps into the shop, he heard me, and glanced around hurriedly. I was surprised to see a look of alarm in his eyes, as though he were expecting someone to be coming after him, as though he ought not to be there.

I frowned slightly. Why would someone buying - I glanced at what he held in his hands - bread and water be so tense?

I looked again at his coat of shadows. It seemed to have been shaken up, and it was rolling around on his shoulders more vociferously than before. As I stared at it, I felt a deep sense of heaviness grasp around my head like an iron fist around a peanut. My mood started to turn sour again as the dark thoughts that my parents had carefully banished began to creep back. All I could think about was how dark everything was, and how little everything mattered.

I shook my head, and quickened my pace. I had to get out of there as quickly as I could.

The Dark One (I'd given him a name in the absence of any other way to refer to him - I have a liking for dramatic nicknames) was still glaring at me. I was nearly at the door onto the street when I heard him move. His footstep made an emphatic _thud_ on the wooden floor.

"Can I help you?" my father's clear voice said suddenly.

I exhaled deeply as I got out the door. My dad had an amazing talent for interrupting at the most effective of times, and just then, I was never more glad of it.

I shuddered deeply as I walked down the street. I'd seen odd, aura-like things around a few people before, but never anything like that. It had looked almost primal, as if a basic force of nature had wrapped itself around some teenager who thought he was a cool dude with his leather jacket and unruly dark hair.

I took a few deep breaths, clearing the image of the coat of darkness from my mind, as I approached my school.

Boone High School wasn't especially wonderful in any way, but nor was it particularly unpleasant. It was the kind of place that you certainly didn't love but definitely didn't hate. It was just _there_.

My one good friend met me at the gate. Bob Greenwood was far more socially awkward that I had ever been, and for some reason he'd taken a liking to me. I found him a tiny bit annoying, but I wasn't exactly surrounded by a giggling entourage of adoring fans and companions, so I took what came my way.

Every day for the last three months, he'd met me at the gate and stayed at my side for more or less the entire school day. I couldn't help but think that it was a little strange how he started doing this less than a week after one of my teachers was replaced by a monster.

No, I'm not being metaphorical, or even insulting. I'm being literal. Mrs Celato looked like an unfortunate genetic experiment which had involved a flock of ravens, a scrawny but extremely angry vulture, an arthritic snake, and some other strange creature that was itself the by-product of a disastrous genetic experiment.

All in all, she was a terribly distracting sort of teacher to have when you were trying to learn freaking _Pythagoras_.

Her class was the first one of the day, and as I sat there, watching her drone on about Cartesian coordinates, I considered the one truly unusual thing about Mrs Celato The Monster.

Invariably when I met a creature of any kind, they didn't pay me any attention at all. If I spoke to them, they interacted with me as though I was some kind of insect that had crawled out from the depths of the sewers. To these creatures, I was an irrelevancy, a zero in the equation.

Mrs Celato The Monster took a different tack, however. Ever since she'd taken over the math class (in obviously suspicious circumstances - how can an almost-penniless twenty-three-year-old male maths teacher have a crippling skiing accident in the Swiss Alps?), she'd been fixating on me. Whenever I glanced up from my struggles with theorems, there she was, staring at me as though I were a particularly fascinating spherical surface area problem.

I hadn't bothered mentioning Mrs Celato's monsteriness to anyone. I'd given up doing that when I was eight. All I'd get was a you're-a-freaking-nutcase-someone-get-the-straitjacket stare, followed swiftly by a high-pitched, slightly panicked, "I gotta go, Cyrus!"

However, a few weeks ago I'd gotten so weirded out by Mrs Celato The Monster's behaviour, I'd decided to mention something about it to Bob. It had been an even stranger conversation than I'd expected.

"Hey, Bob," I'd said, as I sat down for lunch. "Do you ever think there's something kinda weird about Mrs Celato The– Mrs Celato?"

Bob had gotten a wild rabbit-in-the-headlights look in his eyes, as though I'd threatened to kill his family if he didn't immediately recite 'Les Misérables' in its original French form.

"Er," he'd said slowly. "What kind of weird?"

"Oh, you know," I'd replied airily. "Maybe she's a tiny bit fixated on me?"

"Maybe she likes you?" Bob had volunteered lamely, still seeming inexplicably panicked.

I'd stared at him.

"Well, I don't know, Cyrus," he'd said. "Teachers are weird. It's a law of the universe."

I'd laughed, and changed the subject. You didn't need to be a genius detective to see that Bob knew something which he wanted to keep quiet. Hell, maybe _he_ could see that Mrs Celato The Monster was a monster, and he was simply trying to avoid sounding like a lunatic. I could relate to that.

I glanced up from my work to see Mrs Celato staring at me once more. I fought back the temptation to roll my eyes. The world was so screwed-up. Even the _monsters_ didn't act normal anymore.

There was an ominous scraping noise as Mrs Celato pushed her chair back. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as she rose slowly and solemnly, like a mutant bird rising from the grave. With methodical steps, she walked around to the front of her desk. I risked the tiniest of glances up into her face, and was perturbed to see that she was staring down at me with more intensity than ever.

Celato took another step forwards. I got the feeling she was coming in my direction. Was this the point where she put those talons to their natural purpose and ripped me to shreds?

Luckily for the continued existence of my insides, it seemed not. The lunch bell rang, and the creature was driven back to the stronghold of her desk by the unstoppable army of hungry teenagers rushing for food. As I hurried by the teacher for what was hopefully the last time until September, I noticed her eyes boring into me once more. I could almost see her thinking: _Sorry. Wrong day to die._

I carefully avoided the rush to the canteen, as I always did. Every evening before I went to school I arranged my lunch pack for the next day, so I would waste as little time as possible at lunch hour.

You may have noticed that I have a thing about order. Most people call me neurotic, but it's not that. It's not even that I particularly like order itself - it's more that chaos really annoys me. I'm pretty sure it's a side-effect of that little thing where I can see beasts and fiends walking among oblivious men and women.

I sat down at the end of a table which was surrounded by a bunch of people who I knew as "acquaintances".

I have a _lot_ of acquaintances.

They were all busy discussing their myriad plans for the summer. Where they were going, who they were seeing, what they'd be doing, blah, blah, blah. I kept quiet, not wanting to be asked the dreaded question of, "Hey Cyrus, what are you doing for the summer?"

Bob flopped down on the seat across from me. He was an awkward, gangly sort of guy. No matter how sunny the weather was, his skin seemed to stay the same almost-chalky colour. His brown eyes usually had a vaguely manic expression, but he was actually a good deal calmer than he made out.

"What was up with Mrs Celato?" he said suddenly.

I paused before answering. Bob didn't know anything about my "visions", and I preferred to keep it that way. Despite my having numerous psychological assessments, people always defaulted to that friendly mode of "aah crazy person" as soon as I mentioned my "visions".

"How do you mean?" I said carefully.

"You didn't notice her getting out of her chair like a demonic zombie?" Bob asked incredulously.

"Oh, yeah, that," I said airily. "It was a bit weird. Maybe she wanted to stretch her legs?"

Bob shrugged. "Hey, I don't know," he replied. "I'm only asking because she was heading in your direction."

I frowned. Bob seemed to be genuinely puzzled by The Monster's behaviour. Perhaps I should tell him that Mrs Celato was, in fact, a mutant bird monster.

Before I could say anything, however, Bob's phone buzzed. He started, and pulled it out quickly. I watched as he read the text.

"Uh-oh," he muttered absent-mindedly. "I was wondering when this would happen."

"What is it?" I asked curiously.

"Um, uh, nothing," he lied unconvincingly. "I just have to go do… something. I'll be back in time for class."

I nodded. Whatever it was, Bob wasn't going to tell me, and I couldn't have been bothered to prise it out of him. He'd probably trip himself up and let it slip at some point, anyway. He hurried off, looking at his phone again as he sped out of the canteen.

Now that I was alone, I took to one of my favourite activities - people-watching. The great thing about being observant is that it guarantees many hours of amusement.

Most people in the canteen looked cheerful, and the general atmosphere was bright. As a result, the majority of the kids there weren't terribly interesting. Happy people are deeply boring to observe. They spend their time smiling and hopping around like sentient tennis balls. You'll never see anything intellectually intriguing when you're observing a happy person. Miserable people and angry people, now there's something fascinating to watch. You can try to figure out why they're in a bad mood, analyse the way they're acting in that bad mood, and use that to work out what kind of person they are, and generally observe the hell outta them.

So, ignoring the swathes of boring happy people, I looked around to find someone who wasn't trying to win the prize for Cheer of the Year. Unfortunately, everyone seemed to be prime contestants for that prestigious award. I was about to give up completely, when I saw someone who was the polar opposite of cheerful and exuberant.

In a far corner of the canteen, sitting alone, was a very morose-looking girl. She had dark hair and unremarkable features, but she had something that was far more remarkable than any physical feature could be - a faint green aura, trailing around her shoulders and down her back.

The girl herself was munching on a sandwich with a seriousness that suggested it was her last meal. Her aura (I hate to use the word aura, but sometimes it is the only accurate term, and this was one of those times), vibrated softly, making it look like she was shrouded in a sort of odd green electric blanket. As I watched (carefully, of course - the key to people-watching is making sure that the people don't start watching you back), she put the remnants of her sandwich down, and glared at her plate.

My eyes widened in surprise as her aura began to roll and shudder, vibrating far faster than before. In the blink of an eye, a small stream of green energy flowed down her arm and coiled around the plate.

The plate moved a few inches across the tray.

The girl started in surprise, and the aura settled back down into a quieter state, the green energy stealing back up her arm. She eyed the plate with alarm, her expression of misery momentarily gone, before pushing it back to where it had been.

I shook my head slightly. No-one else had noticed what had happened, apart from me. It was one of the weirdest things I'd seen since…

Well. Since that morning.

I frowned, thinking. I hadn't seen any weird auras in several years, and then two came along at once. It _seemed_ merely coincidental that I saw two weird things like that on the same day, but I didn't take it for granted. The study of chess had taught me that there really was no such thing as a true coincidence. Things didn't just randomly _happen_. Everything was defined by patterns, which meant that everything happened for a reason.

I felt sure that something really screwed-up was about to happen, and boy, was I right.

The bell rang for the end of lunch. Bob still hadn't reappeared. I shrugged to myself. Perhaps he'd rush into class dramatically, just in the nick of time. My day certainly hadn't been short on drama so far.

I made my way out of the canteen, and went out into the corridor.

Then I saw yet another very strange sight.

The day was starting to get a bit predictable.


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun. **

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

* * *

_"Are you a mutant?" _[said Carol.]

_"I'm sorry?" _[said Valkyrie.]

_Carol's eyes widened. "Do you have super powers?"_

_"No, I don't. It wasn't super powers, it was… well, magic."_

_Carol laughed suddenly, and a little crazily. "You expect us to believe that?"_

_"You'd be willing to believe that Valkyrie is a super-powered mutant," Fletcher said, "but not that she's magic?"_

_–_Derek Landy, 'Skulduggery Pleasant: Mortal Coil'

* * *

Mrs Celato stood a few feet away, wearing a bloodthirsty expression which made clear her desire to rip up a few stomachs. Standing in front of her was an olive-skinned teenager with a dark sword and a very annoyed expression. Off to one side, looking on with worry, was Bob.

"Bob!" I exclaimed. As used to weird situations as I was, even this was pretty freaky, particularly because, judging by the olive-skinned teenager's disgusted expression, he was seeing Mrs Celato The Monster for what she really was.

"Cyrus!" Bob said, sounding rather strained.

The annoyed-looking teenager glanced over at me for a second, and started slightly, as though I'd surprised him. He glared again at the monster (at this point I decided calling her Mrs Celato was rather pointless), and I said, "Bob, what the hell is going on?"

Bob widened his eyes and shrugged, as if to say, "I don't know much more than you." The olive-skinned teenager heard me, and turned his ominous glare back over to where I stood. He took a step towards me, and snapped his fingers. The snap echoed, even though the hall wasn't even remotely echoey, but other than that, nothing happened.

The Olive (I couldn't keep calling him 'the olive-skinned teenager' and I need to mentally refer to people by something specific) said, "Everything is normal here. Just stay there."

I stared at him. What kind of a mad Olive was he? Then again, seeing as how he could see the monster (and how he was wielding a seriously deadly-looking sword), it was perfectly possible that the Olive wasn't entirely in possession of those precious stones we call marbles.

"Um, no," I said, slowly and clearly. It isn't good to be unclear with crazy people. "There's a crazy bat thing just there, and you're holding a weird black sword."

The Olive frowned. He seemed surprised. I took the pause as a chance to look at him more closely, and I noticed that he had, just like the Dark One and the girl in the cafeteria, a strong, pulsing aura.

It was a little like what I'd seen on the Dark One - almost-pure darkness enveloping most of his body in a trailing, misty cloud. Unlike the other dark aura, though, it wasn't as violent and disrupted. It was calmer, more controlled, and it didn't cling to the Olive in a sticky sort of way.

"Now, listen here–" he started to say. The monster cut him off, however.

(Honestly. Why can't creepy monsters of doom have manners like the rest of us?)

"Enough of this nonsense!" screamed the creature. It rose into the air, flapping its wings, and dropped towards me like a feathery bomb.

I froze.

My mind worked at top-speed, telling me how fast I needed to move and exactly what those claws would do to me, but I couldn't translate those thoughts into action. Death bore down on me like a freight train, and I did nothing.

Luckily, life decided to represent itself in the form of the Olive. He roared out a warning, and the sudden noise was enough to jolt me into diving to one side. I rolled away, hearing another roar from the Olive as he confronted the creature. I got up onto my knees, and watched.

He'd managed to get the monster onto the ground with a quick blow. Now, the Olive stood over it, his sword at a threatening angle.

"Why is my father interested in this demigod?" he shouted. "Tell me!"

I frowned. Demigod? Was he referring to me? I knew I was weird, but I was quite sure that I wasn't _remotely_ godly.

"You have no idea. I cannot tell you, but you will know before long," the monster replied, sounding almost gleeful, which didn't make sense, considering the great big yellow wound spreading across it.

The Olive really didn't like the fiend's attitude - he made his feelings clear by impaling the creature, pinning it to the ground. Suddenly, though, the monster exploded into a shower of bright yellow dust. In moments, the monster was nothing more than work for the janitor.

But things didn't stop there. A swirling circle of shadow, about the width of a stool, opened up in the ground. The yellow dust blew through the air, dancing about, before being pulled down into the circle. The shadows swallowed up the dust, and began to shrink away. They dwindled down to almost nothing, but a small piece of darkness, about the size of a coin, remained on the ground, still swirling around.

It stayed there, and as I stared at it, an icy chill snuck down my spine like a drop of freezing water.

"All right. What the _hell_ is going on?" I demanded. Sure, I was pretty used to freakiness of many varieties, but I was _really_ starting to want answers.

The Olive sheathed his sword - a blade that was, I thought vaguely, more or less identical to the one that the Dark One had had. He faced me, now looking less angry. He sighed, and said to Bob, "Do you want to explain this one, Bob?"

"W-well, y-you see," stuttered Bob awkwardly.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" the Olive said abruptly, which shut Bob up. I felt rather grateful - Bob had a wonderful talent for making confused people even more confused than they already were.

The Olive approached me, an inquisitive look on his face. I shifted around a little. I'm never comfortable with people looking at me, and when they're carefully inspecting me, as this guy was, it makes things worse.

"You gonna stand there all day, or what?" I snapped, using the English accent that I subconsciously slip into when I feel really under pressure.

The teenager stepped back, coming out of his intense stare. "Um, okay," he said, "Let me give it you straight."

I tried not to snap at him again, but I muttered angrily inside my own head. What _else_ would he do? Give it to me sideways?

"You know the old myths, about the Greek gods and stuff? Well, they're not myths. They're real. All the gods, all the monsters, they exist," the Olive said slowly, gazing at me expectantly.

I didn't respond, instead taking a moment to consider that. I had, of course, done a ton of theorising over the years, trying to work out what it was I actually _saw_. Monsters from Greek mythology had always been quite high up the list of possibilities, so I wasn't too surprised by what the Olive was telling me. If what he was saying was true, it seemed logical to assume that Mrs Celato had in fact been some Greek monster, perhaps a Fury.

My eyes drifted back to the piece of darkness that was still on the floor. A chill of unease ran through me, and I quickly looked at the Olive again. He was still giving me a quizzical look, like he expected me to collapse into hysterical disbelief.

"And?" I said, feeling a bit irritated. I felt like I was being majorly underestimated, and I always _hate_ being underestimated.

"So, you believe me?" the Olive said awkwardly.

"No, I've just watched you kill one of the ancient Furies, and I think you're trying to steal my lunch money!" I muttered, rolling my eyes.

The guy _scratched his head_. How encouraging and reassuring.

"Right. And, the gods sort of have kids with mor– normal humans from time to time," he went on. "And… those kids are called half-bloods, 'cause, they're half-god and half-mor– human."

That wasn't terribly surprising, either. If there was one thing the Greek gods did, it was have kids, so if they were wandering around the modern world, they were bound to be still spawning demigods.

"And?" I said again. I still didn't see the point to all this.

The Olive's expression of surprise deepened. I suppose it was pretty weird that I wasn't more surprised by what he was telling me, but then I've been doing weird and unexpected things since I was about four, so I'm more or less accustomed to people reacting to me like that.

It still got on my nerves, though.

The Olive took a deep breath, in a vaguely dramatic way, and said solemnly, ""And… you are… a half-blood."

When I think back now, it should have been blatantly obvious to me that that was the whole point of the conversation, but at the time, I would have been less surprised if the Olive had told me that I was actually an alien from Pluto.

I leaned back against the wall, trying to reconcile reality with what I'd just been told. My mind span around in confusion. How could I be a half-blood, a child of a Greek god, if both my parents had been around all my life? I would have completely and immediately dismissed the claim, were it not for the fact that the Olive had seen the monster, the Fury, for what it was.

I heard Bob speak, but he sounded really far away, as though my disbelief had sent me down a long tunnel.

"Nico, we need to move," he said seriously.

_Nico,_ some part of me thought vaguely, _that sounds a lot better than "the Olive."_

"Listen, Cyrus, I know you have questions, but we're going to go somewhere safe, okay? Somewhere for half-bloods," Nico said, his tone reassuring. He sounded like he understood what I was going through, what conflicted thoughts were spinning through my mind like tiny tornadoes.

They started to move down the hall, and I followed.

The thing was, though, Nico _didn't_ know what I was going through. There was no way I could be a half-blood. It wasn't like I was trying to deny something that was obvious - I could _not_ see any logical way that I could be the son of a god.

"Wait, wait, wait," I said, stopping.

The Oliv– Nico sighed with more than a little annoyance. "What?" he said grumpily.

"That's… that's not possible," I muttered.

"What's not possible?" Bob said, proving that he could actually speak, though also proving that he was incapable of saying anything helpful.

I gave him a disbelieving glare. "Well, you ought to know this. I can't possibly be the son of a Greek God. I have two parents at home!"

"Parents. Yeah, but, are they both your, you know…" Nico said, his expression that of someone teetering on the slippery edge of insanity.

"My biological parents? Yeah, of course!" I answered, really wanting to hurry things up. There was no point standing around talking about my demigodliness when it was all a load of nonsense.

"You sure?" Bob asked, winning the award for Most Ridiculous Question Of The Hour.

"No. I'm not sure of who my biological parents are. Please help me," I muttered, rolling my eyes. Did these guys want a freaking DNA test?

They both stood there staring at me. I got the feeling they hadn't been expecting this development. "Of course I'm sure!" I exclaimed. "Or would you like me to go home and get my birth certificate? Perhaps some baby photos?"

Nico shrugged, as though what I was saying was basically irrelevant.

"It doesn't matter," he said, "We need to get you to camp. Chiron will IM your parents when we get there. Let's go."

He turned away from me again, and I practically shouted in outrage, "Don't you get it? I'm not coming with you! You've got the wrong guy!"

What were they going to do? Knock me out and throw me in the back of a truck? There's a word for that…

Oh yeah. _Kidnapping_.

Suddenly the Olive had taken hold of both my hands.

"Listen to me," he said, "I'm going to show you something, now, and I just know I'm going to regret it, but it's the only way that you can understand what danger you're in."

"You can't just–" I started to say, but I fell silent when Nico basically growled at me.

He began to chant in some strange, rolling language. The air around us contorted and darkened. Nico's aura began to glow, but it was an odd kind of dark glow. It writhed and vibrated much faster now, reminding me again of the Dark One from the shop.

Around us, the air had turned into a dark mist, and it was sparking with grey light. I could barely see, as it swirled around us at high speed.

Nico shuddered, mumbling some ancient word in an emphatic tone, and the mist suddenly flowed together, binding and shrinking down. Within moments, it had condensed to a large round ball of fog, which rose over our heads. As I watched it, transfixed, it seemed so dark and so menacing that I had to suppress a strong urge to turn around and run.

Nico shouted something, and broke away from me abruptly. It would have startled me if I hadn't been completely on-edge already.

The ball of fog split in two, breaking down the middle like a cracked egg. One half floated towards Nico, one towards me, and both spread out as they moved.

The dark fog (it sounds so scary when it's put like that, doesn't it? But it was plenty scary at the time) flowed around me, spreading out. I felt like I was at the centre of an evil, sentient hurricane. I tried to step out of it, but it moved with me.

"What… what is this?" I cried, not caring how scared I sounded.

Nico, who was surrounded by his own half of the fog, ignored me. He drew his sword, and came towards me.

I, as any rational being would have done, got even more freaked out. I stumbled away, not that it would have done me much good. Luckily, Nico didn't want to cut me in half. Or maybe he did. Either way, he didn't try to murder me.

Instead, he simply snapped at me to calm down, before passing his sword through the fog that surrounded me. One last stream of strange words passed through his lips, and he tossed the sword to the floor, much to my relief. The clang as it hit the ground was coupled with a searing flash of light.

When my vision readjusted, I saw that the two batches of fog around me and Nico had both changed colour. Nico's was now a dark-grey, and it showed the aura I'd been able to see before. It still writhed, though less so than it had a moment before.

My fog had turned a bright orange-red. It wasn't swirling now - rather, it rested on my shoulders and arms. It still moved, but it merely flickered. My first thought when I saw it was, oh dear, I've been set on fire.

Then I realised that I didn't feel anything. The orange fog was just _there_.

"What is this?" I murmured.

"That's not… is that…" Bob stuttered. He seemed amazed, as if he were looking upon some rare burrito recipe.

(He really liked burritos.)

"It is!" Nico said, proud, like a craftsman presenting some masterpiece he'd created. He rather ruined the effect by slumping onto the ground and moaning with exhaustion. Bob went over to him, making sure he was okay. They had a murmured discussion, while I stood there staring at orange fog.

The two of them were muttering in an admiring tone. They still hadn't explained what was going on.

"What is it? Enough with the cliché keeping-the-kid-in-the-dark!" I snapped.

"This is aura-reading," Nico explained finally, pride still clear in his voice. "A high-level Mist-manipulation skill that can only be performed by a creature of the Underworld."

Yay, so there's an Underworld. I wondered how soon I'd end up there. Chances were I wouldn't be getting a nice friendly guided tour.

"And you're a creature of the Underworld?" I said, asking an obvious question to give myself a minute to think.

"Yep. Nico di Angelo, son of Hades, at your service," he said, bowing sarcastically.

I nodded, once more examining the mist that wrapped itself around me. Hordes of questions crowded up and made a mob, trying to be the first to be answered. Unfortunately they were all attempting to get through the same door, and an almost painful crush of ideas formed.

"But– but why–" I stammered, painfully aware of how gormless I looked.

Suddenly I noticed how the hall was actually filling up with students making their way to their next class, streaming by me. Despite that, every one of them was completely ignoring me and my mythly acquaintances. As good as I am at diverting attention, this was a new one.

"Can't they see us?" I muttered.

Nico shook his head. "I manipulated the Mist so that we are completely invisible."

"How can you do that?" Bob asked.

"Mist originates from the Underworld. Hence, creatures of the Underworld have a greater level of control over it," the son of Hades said airily. He talked as if he was explaining how to make a cup of tea.

I finally managed to pick out the most important question. "But why? Why show me this, this aura?"

"Your aura is highly unusual, by mortal standards," Nico replied, stepping towards me. "Look how bright and strong it is. Here, allow me to demonstrate."

He bent down. took up his sword again, and waved it at me like a long baton. The mist rose off me, and flew through the air towards a random passing student. It settled around him for a moment, and it turned a dull, solid blue. It didn't move at all, but lay completely still - entirely different to my aura.

"You have the aura of a half-blood," Nico said, as he restored the mist to me. "And even if you do have two normal parents, there is something different about you, and you need to come with me and Bob now."

I paused. The whole thing could have been a load of nonsense, a bag of tricks, but the mist thing couldn't be an illusion. Nor could Nico's accurate perception of the monster.

And even though I wasn't fully convinced, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this was my chance to find out the secret behind my sight.

I nodded.

"Good," Nico di Angelo huffed. "Now, follow me."


	4. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

_At the heart of just about every legend is a grain of truth._

–Michael Scott, 'The Enchantress'

* * *

Nico drove us to the "safe place". I don't remember much from the journey, other than my muddled questions and Nico and Bob's not entirely helpful answers. When I look back, two things stand out. One was my surprise when I was told that we were actually headed for a summer camp.

"_A summer camp?_" I snapped, my frustration resurfacing when this was revealed.

"Camp Half-Blood," Bob said, nodding in what was presumably meant to be a reassuring manner.

"Most demigods are teenagers when they're trained," Nico said, his exasperation at having to explain this apparently blatantly-obvious fact clear in the quiet trembling of his aura. "Can you imagine a gang of hyperactive teenagers being herded into some kind of mythological military school?"

Even _I_ had to admit that the Olive had a point there.

The other stand-out feature of the journey was Nico's complete indifference towards me. For someone who was supposed to be helping me discover my true nature, he was awfully disinterested. It didn't help matters when I asked once again if they were sure I was a demigod, and Nico replied airily, "We think, yeah."

I'd been trying to tone down my angry sarcasm, but this was too much.

"Oh, wonderful," I muttered. "So, I'm going with two people, one of whom is a complete stranger, to a camp at an unknown location, because these two people _think_ I am the child of a Greek God. Oh, and the complete stranger is a son of the god of the Underworld. Which is also real."

"Pretty much," Nico replied evenly, pressing down the accelerator. Either he was so detached he couldn't spot sarcasm if it picked up a bat and hit him over the head, or he was so used to snark he simply tuned it out.

I started off on another rant, but their glassy eyes made clear that neither Nico nor Bob were listening to me, and so I gave up, and spent the rest of the journey trying to calm my mind down.

Eventually, we reached the camp. At first glance, I thought it was just a hill.

Then I noticed the dragon.

"Er," I said, my voice embarrassingly squeaky. "Is that a, uh. a…"

"A dragon?" Nico said helpfully. "Yep. Guardian of the camp."

"What kind of a camp has a _dragon_ for a guardian?" I replied in disbelief.

"A very paranoid one," Nico said quietly, a small smile plucking at his lips.

We began to climb up the hill, and I continued to stare at the dragon. I realised that it was coiled around a large pine tree. Judging by its position, I figured it was actually guarding the tree. One thing was for sure - if you needed a guard, that dragon was the guy for the job: long, scaly, and generally so scary-looking, his entire job was fulfilled even when he was asleep. I sure wouldn't argue with _him_ over the leftover pizza.

I focussed on the tree, and was taken aback when I saw what looked like a small star cradled on two of the branches. It radiated a golden light, and just looking at it made me feel calmer and more awake.

"What's that bright thing?" I asked Bob. He looked at me blankly, and I rephrased the question: "What's the dragon coiled around?"

"That's the tree that forms the border of camp," he explained. "On it is the Golden Fleece. Peleus, the dragon, guards it night and day."

I drew in a sharp breath. So _that_ was why it was so bright, and why Bob (and presumably Nico) didn't notice it. The mystery of my sight deepened.

A hope that I'd get some easy answers to my questions about my sight passed briefly through my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. That was like expecting the grass to turn red - my Murphyonic field would stop anything from happening easily.

We reached the crest of the hill and, with amazement, I took in all that lay in the valley below. Cabins, some grouped in a horseshoe curve and others dotted around in a patternless clump; a large lake, with the distant shapes of canoes and swimmers upon it; an archery range, something that immediately took my interest - if I had to learn to fight, archery might be a good option, what with my bizarrely clear sight; what looked like some kind of sword-fighting arena - I was already praying I'd be able to keep out of that; a large pavilion, filled with benches and a large open fire; and a large farmhouse, which seemed to be the biggest standalone structure in the whole camp.

"We're going down there, to the Big House," Bob said, gesturing towards the farmhouse.

I suppressed a chuckle. The Big House? That had to be one of the most unimaginative names ever. Next they'd be calling the pavilion a—

"I'll see you guys in the dining pavilion," Nico muttered, clearly fed up with human company.

_Right_, I thought, as I watched the son of Hades practically run down the hill. _Whoever runs this camp clearly isn't the most ingenious when it comes to naming things_.

Bob started off down the hill again, and I followed him, keeping a step behind, just in case something jumped out at us.

(Hey, I'm not paranoid! I'm simply cautious.)

(After all, have you ever met a cautious corpse?)

The camp was pretty quiet. The only sounds were the clash of swords from the arena, the swish of the wind in the trees, and the quiet thuds of Bob's hooves clopping along the path.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. Bob was actually a satyr. He had, he'd explained in the car, been assigned to segue me from the school and into my "pick-up", which sounded too much like a complicated drug trafficking operation for my liking.

Anyway, he'd pulled off his shoes and his jeans when we'd nearly reached the hill, revealing that his lower half was actually that of a well-groomed (but rather shaggy) goat. When he'd told me that I was his fourth half-blood assignment, I was less than impressed. Whoever organised these pick-ups really needed to screen their staff better. As friendly as Bob was, he'd been as helpful as an _actual_ goat.

We drew closer to the Big House, and I saw two people on the porch. Well, one person and a horse.

I blinked.

One person and a _centaur_, actually.

I rubbed my eyes wearily. This was starting to get overwhelming. What was next? Were a mob of Ewoks accompanied by a marching band of house elves about to stream around the corner?

It got worse as I turned my attention to the moody fat guy who sat (his slouch was so bad he looked doubled over) across from the centaur. He was shrouded in a purple aura, a light so deep it seemed to dilate the space around it. The air around him seemed to bend inwards, as if he were bending the fabric of space itself. Either he was so incredibly lazy that it bent the universe, or he was some kind of supernatural powerhouse, I decided. The centaur, on the other hand, had no aura.

The two of them were seated at a small table, playing some kind of card game. They glanced up as we approached, and Moody Universe-Bending Guy's expression of moodiness soured even further, if that was possible.

Bob stepped in front of them, and bowed. This made the centaur frown in irritation, but Moody Guy seemed to like it.

"Straighten up, Bob," the centaur chided, laying his cards face-down on the table. "What are you here for?"

"I have brought Cyrus Wright here, sir," Bob said carefully. He enunciated each word carefully, as if he thought he'd be incinerated if he misspoke even slightly. For all I knew, he was right. I cleared my throat quietly and moistened my lips. New life as a pile of ash, here I came…

"Ah, I see," the centaur said cheerfully. "Thank you, then, Bob. He seems to be uninjured and sane, so you've done what's needed. You can go."

The satyr bowed again. He paused for a moment and gave me a nervous glance, before hurrying off at top speed.

The centaur turned his attention to me, inspecting me with deep concentration. On the other end of the spectrum, Moody Guy flicked his eyes toward me for a second, before gazing darkly at his cards again.

"I am Chiron," the centaur said finally. He seemed satisfied from whatever he'd worked out from examining me, and he reached out a hand for me to shake.

I heard my father's voice echo through my mind as I shook Chiron's hand.

_Cyrus, if you don't give someone a proper firm handshake they might just break your hand off._

Bearing that in mind, and feeling like such a result was more likely here than in any other place I'd ever been, I gave a firm handshake, and kept up the eye contact. Chiron broke the shake first, and as he did so, I remembered who he actually was.

"Wait, I thought you were up in the sky?" I said abruptly.

(I really need to stop asking questions so much. It gets me into more trouble than you would ever believe.)

Sure enough, this earned me a brief evil-eye stare from Moody Guy. I met his gaze for half a second, and was startled by the purple fire that smouldered in his eyes. It didn't _literally_ smoulder, of course. That would've been silly.

"Ah, not exactly," Chiron replied, sounding slightly amused. I relaxed just a little, feeling relieved that I hadn't yet annoyed the centaur.

Moody Guy turned his gaze away from me, and produced a bag of potato chips from thin air. Chiron, seeing my expression at this, quickly continued.

"The gods decided I was still needed here to train their half-blood offspring, and thus I remained alive for thousands of years," the centaur explained, his tone almost ridiculously nonchalant.

I stared at him for a moment, feeling more than a little fuzzy-headed. There were so many crazy facts in that statement, I didn't know which to question first. After a prolonged pause, my mouth opted to cut loose from my mind, and stuttered, "Um, the gods?"

_Fantastic_, I immediately thought. _Now I look like a dimwitted teenager. Well, more than I did already. Really great job, Cyrus. _

Moody Guy made his contempt for my ignorance known by letting out a nice loud derisive snort. Chiron gave him an irritated glance, before turning back to me.

"Yes, the gods. The Olympian gods, in fact," he said cheerily.

"Oh," I nodded. "Of course. Who else could it be?"

Chiron coughed loudly at the exact same time as Moody Guy let out a small growl of irritation.

"In any case," the centaur continued, "I am Chiron, and this is Camp Half-Blood, a place where you are both welcome and safe. This is Mr. D," he gestured towards Moody Guy, who was already eating a third bag of chips, "our camp director."

"Okay," I said slowly. "So this is a camp for demigods. Do you, like, train us and so on? Teach us to save the world and kill monsters?"

"O-ho," Mr. D said suddenly, sitting forward with almost disconcerting interest. "This one is a little sharper than the rest. Perhaps he's one of Athena's. She has been very busy since the mortals got past the telegram."

"What— what are you talking about? What do you mean, I might be one of Athena's?" I asked, looking at Mr. D again, but not daring to gaze directly into his eyes.

He didn't answer my question. Instead, he said, "Well if you really are so smart, Simon, who am I?"

I stared at his nose carefully. Whoever this guy was, he was testing me, trying to determine something about me. I sure as hell didn't like him, but nor was I about to back away from such a direct challenge to my intelligence.

I took a deep breath, and slipped into that focused state of mind where I do my best thinking. I inspected Mr. D from head to toe, taking in everything from his shiny sandals to his black curly hair. His T-shirt was garishly colourful, with the design featuring ridiculously happy dolphins and hopelessly idealised beaches. His hands were unworn but tanned, like those of someone used to leisure and relaxation. He looked as untoned and unfit as any average slob, but his deep purple aura gave him a presence far stronger and more intimidating than that of any slob I'd ever seen.

Somehow, I thought I knew who he was. I felt it at the edge of my mind, but I couldn't quite place him.

Then he yawned emphatically, and my eyes were drawn irresistibly up to his.

I looked into the twin purple flames that burned in his eyes, and my mind was filled with alien thoughts of endless debauchery, parties so primal they drew both men and beasts, goblets and goblets of wine so potent it could make a grown man drunk in a second…

I blinked, and looked away quickly, but I'd seen enough to understand exactly who Mr. D was.

"Dionysus," I breathed.

"Give the godling a prize," the god said sarcastically.

Chiron cut in before I could say anything. "Perhaps this would be a good moment for you to view the orientation film."

"Um, okay," I said. My chronically active imagination was already supplying me with cheerful images of dark rooms, glowing screens, and ominous chanting. As you can imagine, I was pretty relieved when Chiron simply drew a phone from his pocket.

"We used to have an orientation room, with a projector," he told me, as he tapped the phone's screen carefully. "But then some children of Athena joined Apple and we finally got our hands on some decent technology."

I tried not to laugh. Even two-thousand-year-old _centaurs_ wanted smartphones.

"There you go," Chiron said, handing me the phone. "Please, sit down."

I lowered myself into a chair, keeping my eyes on the screen. At first it was black. Then a man with elfin features appeared, standing in front of a whiteboard.

"Greetings, teenagers," he said cheerfully. "Today I'd like to talk to you about something called _puberty_."

He methodically wrote out the word "puberty" on the whiteboard.

"Hermes!" hissed a voice, off-screen. "Wrong lecture!"

"Oh. Right. Sorry," Hermes whispered back apologetically. He grinned sheepishly into the camera, before fiddling with his marker.

"Er…yes, undo, command-z," he muttered. The whiteboard went blank.

"Okay, let's start again," Hermes said. "Today I'm here to talk to you about being a demigod." He stopped, and slowly wrote out "demigod" on the whiteboard. "Dem-i-god," he enunciated.

I nearly groaned in irritation, but remembered that a Greek god was sitting next to me, and so I kept my mouth tightly shut.

"You see, the gods of Ancient Greece are alive and well in modern-day America," he continued, before pausing again to slowly write "America" on the board.

And so it went on, for fifteen minutes or more. I'd never seen anyone take so long to explain something.

The crux of the lecture was that the Greek gods existed and thrived in America. Apparently the Olympian gods were tied to Western civilisation itself, and as the West moved across the world, so too the gods moved. Mount Olympus was situated above the Empire State Building, which sounded like bad planning permission to me, but I kept that observation to myself.

As Nico had explained, the gods frequently had children. These children, called demigods, had various crazy abilities, depending on who their godly parent was. Usually, they had ADHD and dyslexia - one was a manifestation of their heightened battle reflexes, the other an effect of their ability to understand Ancient Greek. I nearly told Chiron right then that I had neither ADHD nor dyslexia, but I wasn't sure if that would make Moody Guy smite me, so I stayed quiet.

These children of gods were in serious danger from monsters, because apparently demigods smell. This I found insulting, and further evidence that I might not actually be a demigod: I was always very careful about hygiene.

Apparently not only were the Greek gods real, but almost every Greek monster ever known also existed, and a few others besides. Not only that, but pretty much every one of these monsters were strict demigodarians.

These monsters were the reason why I, as a demigod, had to train and learn to fight. According to Hermes, Camp Half-Blood was the ideal place to "help young half-bloods reach their full potential as fearsome warriors!", which didn't really sound like something parents would be overly cheerful about.

Parents. I suddenly remembered my mom and dad. I should have been home. They'd have no idea what had happened. For all I knew, the police were already out looking for me.

I looked up at Chiron and Mr. D, who had gone back to their card game.

"My parents!" I exclaimed, feeling simultaneously guilty and panicked. "I have to contact them!"

I pulled out my phone, but Chiron shook his head seriously.

"No telephone reception here, I'm afraid," he said solemnly. "Too dangerous. We'll have to IM them."

"Do what?"

He laid his cards face-down on the table, and stood up. "Iris-Message. Please, follow me."


	5. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

"_Hello Dad! It is now three in the morning. Do you know where I am?"_

–Bill Watterson, 'Calvin and Hobbes'

* * *

Chiron tossed a piece of gold into the rainbow, and told me to call out my dad's name and location. Barely a second later, a slightly hazy image of my father shimmered into existence before my very eyes.

The centaur and I were standing at the side of the Big House, using a high-pressure hose to conjure up a vaguely multi-coloured spray of water which apparently passed as a rainbow. Chiron had explained to me that Iris-Messaging was a system provided by the goddess Iris, who used rainbows as a network to link people up for video chats. It was basically the Olympian version of Skype, except it wasn't free. I couldn't help but think that a whole piece of gold for five minutes was a massive rip-off.

The way the coin vanished was pretty cool, though. If people could be transported by the same means, the oil companies would go bust in days.

So there we stood, me in front of the rainbow, looking sheepish, and Chiron to one side, holding the hose.

The image of my dad sharpened, and I saw that he was in the shop, which was mercifully empty. He was scribbling in a notebook, and didn't look up for a few seconds.

Eventually he paused, and glanced up absentmindedly.

When he met my eyes, he nearly fell over.

"Cyrus?!" Dad exclaimed, staring in disbelief. From his perspective, it probably looked like my disembodied head was floating in mid-air, which would be understandably disturbing.

"Hi, Dad," I replied weakly. I'd seen him only a few hours ago, but I'd learned so much and had so many surprises in those few hours, it felt like it had been days.

Dad didn't say anything for a moment. He actually seemed to be stunned into silence for once, which was quite an event. I stayed silent too, not really sure where to start. I mean, what do you say? "Hey Dad, apparently I'm the offspring of a Greek god and I'm at this camp where they say they'll train me to be a hero. Tell Mom not to worry!"

I was getting ready to say exactly that, when my dad's expression changed, as though he was having a dawning realisation. His eyebrows raised, as they always did when he was making a connection between one thing and another. Exactly _what_ he was realising was beyond me. He couldn't possibly have known anything about Camp Half-Blood or demigods, surely?

"What's going on, Cyrus?" he said simply, now looking a good deal calmer.

"Er. Quite a lot, now that you mention it."

I won't recount it all here, but I went on to explain what the hell was going, or at least my shaky understanding of what the hell was going on. I went over what had happened at the school, everything Chiron and Nico had told me, and where I was now. At some point a female voice asked me to put in another drachma for a further five minutes, and Chiron tossed a second gold coin into the rainbow.

"And then I realised I hadn't contacted you and Mom, and I pretty much panicked, but then Chiron told me about this IM-ing thing," I concluded.

My dad said nothing as I fell silent. He gazed through the rainbow, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

It may sound strange, but for me, this was the weirdest moment of the day. You'd think that if you told your parents this kind of thing, they'd be shocked, disbelieving, maybe even angry, right? You'd expect them to go into paroxysms of endless worry and and tremors of almost irrational anxiety.

Did my dad do that? No.

He merely nodded calmly, the way he would if I told him I was going to the shop. He was neither perturbed nor shocked. It was _deeply_ confusing. At that particular moment, I put it down to my dad's devoted pragmatism and straightforward nature, but the more I thought about it afterwards, the stranger it seemed.

"Um, so what so you think of all that?" I asked, hoping he'd show some kind of surprise.

"Well, Cyrus," Dad said slowly. "I always had a feeling that there was something different about you. Heck, more than a feeling. It's been downright obvious for the last few years. Maybe it's weird for me to say this, but I'm not really surprised."

I nodded calmly, as though he was making sense, but deep down I knew that he was reeling off an awfully lame excuse. There was something else, some other piece of important information which my dad already knew, and he was keeping it to himself.

"So take your time," he went on. "Learn what you need. Keep in touch, and I'll explain the situation to your mother."

"Okay. Thanks, Dad," I said quietly. "I'll try to contact you again tomorrow."

He smiled, and said, "Sure. And remember, Cyrus, you can see things fo–"

The Iris-Message fizzled out, and he was gone.

Chiron put his hand on my shoulder, murmuring a few words of encouragement, but I didn't hear him. I heard only my dad's last few words.

_You can see things for a reason._

He hadn't gotten a chance to finish his sentence, but I knew what he'd been about to say. I'd heard it many times. Every time he'd ever said it to me, I'd given the same reply. But _what's_ the reason? How can you _know_ there's some purpose to it?

I still didn't know the answer to the first question, but I felt that I had some beginnings of an answer to the second. My dad knew there was some purpose, because he knew something else about me, about my sight, something that had been kept from me.

I didn't know what was going on, what long shadow was being cast across my life. I didn't know what the Greek gods had to do with it, and I didn't even know anymore if my parents _were_ my parents.

But what I did know was that no matter what happened, I'd get to the bottom of it.

"Hey!" a bright voice cried out suddenly. I started, and turned around quickly.

A dark-haired girl, a couple of inches shorter than me, had just come around the corner, and was striding towards us. She was pale, with dark-grey eyes, and wore brightly coloured clothes. She had a slight build, but her emphatically cheerful bearing and expression made her stand out. Her aura was dark, like Nico's and the Dark One's, but it was less immediately noticeable - the bright light of the sun seemed to bleach it and make it look dull.

"That grumpy guy told me to look for you around here," she said, coming to a halt in front of us and addressing Chiron. "You're Chiron, right?"

"I am," the centaur nodded. "And you are?"

"Jane Welles," the girl replied, nodding back.

Chiron started to say something else, but Jane cut in, saying, "And yeah, I know I'm a demigod, the gods are real, all that stuff."

"Then who is your godly parent?" Chiron replied, unfazed by her great heights of knowledge.

"Nyx!" Jane Welles declared. "The goddess of the night."

Well, that certainly explained her aura.

"Very well," the centaur said. "We won't need to show you the orientation film, then. This is Cyrus," he gestured at me, "I was about to walk him down to the cabins, so you can come too."

Jane nodded, and fell into step with us, walking between Chiron and me.

"So who's your godly parent?" Jane asked me, her dark eyes inquisitive.

"Er," I muttered. "I don't actually know…"

"_Really_?" she exclaimed. "Don't all half-bloods know their parent?"

My carefully-controlled irritation was stirred out of its cage by this comment, and I nearly said something less than kind, but luckily Chiron spoke first.

"Your godly parent should claim you tonight," he told me cheerfully. "Frankly, I'm quite surprised that you've not been claimed before now. Perhaps you're a son of Demeter. She can be very forgetful."

"But, Chiron," I said slowly. "I'm _sure_ that I don't have a godly parent. My parents have been around all my life. They've been together since their early twenties, for God's sake, and they still love each other. It's not like one of them would go off and have an affair with some random deity."

Chiron sighed, as if he'd had this exact conversation a thousand times over.

Jane looked back and forth between us like it was a tennis match. I realised that my anger was not really towards her - it was really down to how easily she seemed to be accepting her half-blood nature. It made me look positively block-headed by comparison.

"These things are not as black-and-white as you would expect," the centaur said diplomatically. "It doesn't always require physical relations between a god and a mortal to produce a half-blood. For instance, Athena is a maiden goddess, and her children come about in a… most curious way."

I started to ask what he meant, but then I remembered the myth of Athena. She'd sprang from Zeus's head fully-formed, so it didn't take too much imagination to figure out how her own kids would be brought into the world.

"Ah," I muttered.

We walked on in silence for a few minutes, until Jane, who seemed to be the poster child for demigod ADHD, decided to fill the quiet with more chatter.

"I knew about my mom since I was very young," she said. Her accent was a vaguely New York one, but at times it sounded almost Californian. "My dad always told me stories about her. He didn't want me to get pulled into the Greek world, but a few months ago my mother turned up and said I had to go to camp."

This story didn't really make me feel any better. If I _did_ have a god for a parent, he or she was the king or queen of absenteeism.

Jane talked on and on as we walked. Clearly, she didn't have the introspective, gloomy nature possessed by some other shadow-demigods I could name. Though her chatter was a bit annoying, her sheer good humour proved to be infectious, and I started to cheer up.

Finally, we reached the motley collection of buildings which I'd seen from the hill earlier on.

It was a real hodge-podge of cabins and huts. There was, as I'd noticed earlier, a central twelve cabins, arranged in a horseshoe. All around that horseshoe stood a multitude of much less organised structures, each one entirely different and unique.

Some were rather small and unimposing, while others were more dramatic and ornate. The horseshoe twelve were the biggest and most complexly decorated, and the buildings outside of the horseshoe were less so - the further a cabin was from the central twelve, the smaller and more unremarkable it was, with one exception. A large cabin, built entirely out of an ominous black stone, stood at the edge of the cabin field, and was only a few feet away from where we stood.

I felt someone watching me, and I caught Chiron gazing at me with a very puzzled expression. He seemed to be searching my own expression for something, and most likely wasn't finding it.

Story of my life.

"Each cabin houses the child or children of a particular god," he explained.

"So Nyx has a cabin?" Jane asked eagerly.

"Yes," Chiron nodded. He paused for a long moment, then said, "So what do you think, Cyrus? Is there any particular cabin that you feel drawn towards?"

(I didn't miss the oh-so-subtle attempt to get some hint of my parentage.)

"Nope," I answered.

I was telling the truth. Sure, some cabins looked more interesting than others, and there were a couple I wouldn't venture near even if I had a handy assault tank. A few other cabins looked more like shacks put together with the leftovers from a seriously disastrous act of God, while others appeared to be sturdy enough to last a thousand years.

And hell, from what I'd been told today, maybe they'd been around for _three_ thousand years.

"Nothing jumps out at me," I elaborated, as Chiron didn't seem satisfied with my short answer. "Not for want of variety, though."

He sighed disappointedly. "Well, I'm sure the mystery of your parentage will be soon resolved. In the meantime, I'll walk you and Jane over to the Hermes cabin."

"Aren't I staying at the Nyx cabin?" Jane asked, her cheeriness momentarily dampened by her dismay.

"Not tonight," the centaur answered. "It's customary for the godly parent to claim his or her child at the demigod's first camp dinner, but until then the half-blood stays at the Hermes cabin."

He walked on into the cabin area, and we followed, making sure not to walk directly behind his horsy half.

"Normally I'd get one of the cabin counsellors to bring the two of you down here," the centaur said conversationally, "but camp's pretty quiet now. None of the counsellors have even arrived yet."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Indeed, camp has been very quiet the last two years or so. Since the last War ended, the world has been a safer place for demigods, and so many more of them have chosen to stay with their families. Why, very few demigods under the age of thirteen are orphans now. Thirty years ago, every second camper was an orphan."

Jane and I exchanged an alarmed glance. This world of mythology was sounding increasingly unpleasant.

"But then we had those two Wars," Chiron went on. "After that, so many monsters were destroyed and banished to Tartarus, sealed away for hopefully centuries, and now the world is a great deal safer. I have to say, this is something of a golden age for half-bloods. Sometimes I wonder if I am still needed. If there are no more dangers, what need is there to train?"

I nodded again, sagely, as though I'd understood every word Chiron had said. In fact he'd lost me at "two Wars". Maybe he meant the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq? I sure didn't know of any other recent wars, unless the CIA had been up to crazy crap again. I glanced at Jane, and she looked even more confused than me.

We stopped outside the most worn and faded cabin of the central twelve. A caduceus hung over the doorway, and the brown paint upon the walls was dull and faded. At first glance it looked anything but inviting, but when you examined it more closely, it took on a strangely welcoming air.

"This is the cabin of Hermes, god of travelers, commerce and fish," Chiron said, in the elevated tone of a tour guide. I thought it was weird that he said Hermes was god of fish but didn't mention that he was also god of thieves. I guess even Greek gods have lawyers.

"This cabin always takes in those who haven't been claimed," he went on. "A little over a decade ago, this cabin would have been bursting with unclaimed demigods, but after the events of the Second Titan War, all the gods were bound to claim all their children, and the Hermes cabin became much more quiet."

Another mention of war. This place had a lot of stories to tell.

"_Second_ Titan War?" Jane echoed.

Chiron nodded. "We had two wars in the last decade. The Second Titan War, and the Second Gigantomachy. No serious mythological wars for centuries, and then two came along at once!"

Jane started asking more questions, but Chiron clearly had somewhere else to go, because he quickly cut her off

"I'll have to leave you now," the centaur said, as politely as possible. "Now, of course you have lots of questions, but I have some duties to attend to, so I will leave you here. Feel free to ask your fellow cabin members, though I wouldn't pester them too much."

"Alright," Jane murmured. Chiron smiled slightly, and wheeled around. He cantered off, leaving Jane and me to enter the cabin on our own.

_Yay_, I thought. _Social interaction with complete strangers. Thanks a _lot_, Chiron._

"This should be fun!" Jane said optimistically. "I always like new people."

"This is going to be painful," I muttered pessimistically. "Meeting new people is usually a nightmare."

We glanced at each other, and both laughed.

"Wow, you're a fountain of hope," the daughter of Nyx said.

"And you're hopelessly optimistic!" I replied.

Finally, we stopped, and surveyed the cabin.

I noticed that there was a pretty distinctive golden glow around the building. Glancing at neighbouring cabins, I saw that the majority of them had some kind of glow or shine. The one around the Hermes cabin rippled more than the others, and seemed a bit erratic. On the other hand, I felt strangely calmed when I looked at it, as though I'd found a place where I was welcome. Most bizarrely of all, I felt an overwhelming urge to make sure that my pockets hadn't been picked recently.

"Well," I said to my fellow newbie, "after you."

"Oh no!" Jane replied hurriedly. "You go ahead. I insist!"

I considered arguing, but remembered that I was the older and taller of the two of us, so I did the decent thing, stepped forward, and pushed open the cabin door.


	6. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

* * *

_We are all strangers in a strange land, longing for home, but not quite knowing what or where home is._

_–_Madeleine L'Engle

* * *

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm pretty damn sure that the universe has regular _Let's Contradict Cyrus_ meetings. Everyone and their dog seem to be a member of the International Brotherhood of Contradictors.

How could I have possibly been contradicted _this_ time, you ask. (Or maybe you're not asking that, but you should be now.)

After the preparation, worry, and general discombobulation, it turned out that the cabin was empty.

"There's no one here!" Jane declared, as she looked around.

"_Really_?" I muttered.

Clearly the daughter of Nyx was very experienced when it came to dealing with sarcasm, as she just rolled her eyes and stepped further into the cabin. I followed, and took in our surroundings.

It was, more than anything else, a very messy place. I prayed to whatever god or gods that existed that I would be claimed or killed, because I was too OCD to survive living in such a dustbin.

The majority of bunks were a whirlwind of sheets, blankets, pillows and random possessions. The floor was so layered with debris that an archeological dig would not have been amiss. It looked as if someone's sock drawer had been dumped in a Paleozoic swamp before being dredged up and hung on every available overhead light. There were enough posters plastered upon the walls to gift-wrap a rhino, and a brave man with a flashlight and a flamethrower would have thought twice before venturing under the beds.

Towards the back of the cabin stood a few clean and tidy beds. I hurried over to them, glad of some safe haven from the full force of Chaos's minions, and watched Jane slowly pad through the battlefield.

It was only as I half-sat, half-fell upon a bed that I realised that I had absolutely no possessions whatsoever, outside of a few things in my pockets. I'd brought my schoolbag, but I'd left it in the car, and who knew when I'd see it again. Somehow, that simple fact made me feel utterly miserable. I guess it was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. The events of the day all ganged up and ambushed me together.

Where the hell was I? What on earth was I doing here? No matter what Chiron said, there was no way I was the offspring of some god. I wasn't dyslexic. I didn't have ADHD. I had all the reflexes of a barn door. My parents had been together for as long as I could remember. The only ability I had was some weird sight thing, and that was probably a mere freak of nature.

So what was the _point_?

I felt as out of place as a politician in a confessional. I'd come very close to being killed once already today. How did I know the people here had honourable intentions? Maybe it was an elaborate scheme to brainwash kids into some cult.

"Hey!" Jane said suddenly, jolting me from my reverie.

"What?" I muttered, scowling.

She'd sat down on a bed opposite me, and was now peering at me pensively. "You're a cranky guy, aren't you?"

"I have been accused of that, yeah," I replied. "So what if I am?"

"Look, we're pretty much in the same boat here," Jane said, shrugging. "We're both the newbies, so why not work together? Or at least get to know each other?"

I looked at her for a moment, and for the first time it occurred to me that her good humour was a little forced. I realised that she was putting it on - for all I knew, she felt as bad as me, but she was being careful not to show it. This immediately made me feel a little embarrassed about being so mopey.

"Alright," I said, sitting forward. "And maybe you're right - I should try to be less grumpy."

"That might be an idea," she said, her eyes expressing a laugh which she mercifully held back. "Why _are_ you so grumpy, anyway?"

It was a good question, one I'd asked myself a number of times, and the answer rose easily to my lips.

"It's because of how I've always been able to see the Greek mythy world, but no one's ever really believed me, apart from my parents. Having almost everyone tell you that you're a liar or that you're crazy starts to wear you down."

"Oh, my dad's like that! He can see it all too, but I can only see it if I really focus. My mother mentioned something about how I'll be able to see through the Mist just fine after a few months at this place."

It was probably a good thing that Jane was there that day, because her earnest, honest manner made me realise that it was ridiculous to think that the camp was a lie. That part of my alarm, at least, was soothed.

"Well, I've always seen through the Mist," I said. "Can your dad see peoples' auras?"

Jane shook her head, and asked, "Can you?"

I hesitated, before nodding. I felt reluctant to tell anyone else, but I was confident that I could trust Jane, even though I'd known her for only a few minutes. Sometimes I get an instinctive feeling about people, like what I'd felt about the Dark One. Probably being able to see auras helped - and Jane's aura was the calmest and least alarming I'd seen all day.

"I can," I said. "Though don't mention it to anyone."

"Sure," Jane nodded. "So do I have an aura?"

"You do," I answered. "But it's very still at the moment, almost dull."

"It would be," she replied with equanimity. "That's the thing about my powers: during the day they're quite weak. They work best at night."

"And what kind of powers do you have?" I asked, intrigued.

"The most useful one is shadow-travel," the daughter of Nyx answered. She'd had a bag when she'd arrived, and she began to unpack it as she spoke. "I can travel through the shadows. Nyx said that children of Hades and Erebus can do it too, but I'm not able to go very far at the moment."

"That's still pretty cool, though."

"Thanks," Jane smiled. "I can also do things like conceal objects in the shadows, and manipulate the darkness into shapes, but I can only do that at night."

She fell silent as the cabin door creaked open. She stopped unpacking, as we both peered towards the doorway.

Standing a step inside the door was a boy about my own age. He was of a medium build, and seemed to be about the same height as me, perhaps slightly shorter. His attention was fixed on a rumpled piece of paper on his hand, and so he didn't notice Jane or me. I only saw a brief glimpse of his face as he stepped in and immediately turned to stare out of the door, but I got the sense that he was deeply irritated.

I kept still, and glanced at Jane, who also stayed motionless. Nothing like a bit of eavesdropping to while the hours away.

Another newcomer approached the cabin, and the guy inside the cabin put his head out, sighing heavily.

"Zack," he called. "It's about time."

"I'm barely a minute late, Kevin. Keep your pacifist hair on," replied the newcomer, just before he entered the cabin.

He was also a teenage boy, though he looked a year or two older than me. He was taller than the other guy, with noticeable blonde hair and a way of carrying himself that made him seem very self-congratulatory. He didn't so much as glance into the cabin, but fixed his attention on Kevin, and so Jane and I remained undiscovered.

"You wanted to see me?" Kevin said testily.

"Well, it was not so much that _I_ wanted to see you," Zack replied, in an equally unfriendly tone. "It was more the case that the rules of capture the flag require us to meet to arrange the necessary–"

"Alright, alright," Kevin cut in. "No need to prove how well you've memorised the rule book."

"At least _one_ of us knows the protocols," Zack muttered petulantly.

The two of them glared at each other. It didn't take any great insight to see that the two of them weren't exactly best pals.

Just then, Jane had the goodness to sneeze rather noisily.

Naturally, this immediately drew the attention of Zack and Kevin. Both their heads whipped about as though a gun had gone off, and their eyes fixed on us instantly.

Their reactions were as far apart as their personalities seemed to be. Kevin looked surprised and slightly alarmed, his eyes widening and his mouth opening, while Zack's eyes narrowed in suspicion and anger.

I coughed slightly, and tried to grin in an unassuming way. Jane stiffened, and I heard her drawing in breath slowly. Zack took a few steps towards us, and I saw his aura - grey, with streaks of slightly dirty white.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" he asked, his tone icy.

Jane and I both started talking at once. I'm not sure exactly why we felt so awkward - perhaps it was down to being new - but we babbled for several very long and awkward moments before Zack cut us off.

"Is this your doing, Andrews?" he said, addressing Kevin with an even more supercilious tone that he'd used before.

"What?" Kevin, or Andrews, or whatever his name was, replied blankly.

"You thought you'd put a couple of spies here, did you?" the other teenager said angrily. "Have them on hand in case you needed a witness? You know that the strategists of the two sides are obliged to meet alone and discuss the arrangements, but for some foolish ploy you had people hide in here!"

Kevin stared at Zack for a moment, looking befuddled, before bursting out laughing. He hollered with laughter, as Zack's expression grew darker and darker, and didn't stop even when the grey-auraed demigod started talking again.

Then Jane stood up, saying, "Hey! _Hey_!"

The two of them fell silent, and exchanged glares, before staring at us, though Kevin's gaze was coloured with amusement rather than anger.

"We're not spies, alright?" Jane said, flapping her arms at her sides as though that would calm the two half-bloods. "We just got here. You two turned up and we weren't sure what to say. Right, Cyrus?"

I got up hurriedly, nodding emphatically, and said, "Why on earth would we be spying? I got here about an hour ago, Jane came a little while after me, and I've been trying to deal with the whole thing ever since. I don't even know who you two are - hell, I don't even know who _I_ am."

I abruptly fell silent, feeling like I'd spoken too much. Kevin and Zack surveyed us, and a morbid thought passed through my mind - what if they had sword-fights to resolve disagreements in this place?

"I think you're telling the truth," Zack said coldly, "but I still would like you to leave now. This is an important meeting, and it has nothing to do with random newbies who happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

I scowled deeply, as my dislike for Zack deepened and widened by the second. No-one who'd ever called me a newbie in such an arrogant way had ever turned out to be someone I could call a friend, and I had no doubt that this guy was the same as the rest.

Kevin caught my expression, which, on reflection, was just as well, as it prompted him to interrupt me before I managed to set a new world record for the fewest number of words ever used to start a fight.

"Okay, that's fine," he said swiftly. "This conversation won't take long, so why don't you wait outside…"

He tailed off, looking at Jane and me questioningly.

"Cyrus," I said. "Cyrus Wright."

"Jane Welles. Daughter of Nyx."

"Nice to meet you, Cyrus and Jane," Kevin said. "Why don't you wait outside?"

He opened the door, and the two of us hurried over. Jane murmured a thank-you, and I just glared at Zack.

* * *

Less than ten minutes later, the door of the Hermes cabin opened again, and Zack hurried out. He neither glanced back into the cabin, nor looked over at Jane and me sitting by the fire at the centre of the cabin area. He strode to another cabin on the other side of the horseshoe, and disappeared into it.

A minute later, Kevin also emerged. He seemed a lot more downbeat than Zack, but as he walked over to us, he made a visible effort to seem welcoming and cheerful.

"Hey, sorry about all that," he said, crouching down next to me. "That was Zack Walker, son of Athena. He is, well…"

"An insufferable ass?" I supplied.

Kevin laughed. It made him look more relaxed, and took away the tension that had been clouding his face. With his hazel eyes, light-brown hair and strong face, he looked very reliable - though a vague sense of worry pervaded his bearing.

"You'd better be careful using words like 'inexplicable'," he said good-naturedly. "People might think you belong to the same cabin as Zack, and you won't like that, I'm sure." He extended his hand. "I'm Kevin Andrews."

"Nice to meet you," I said, automatically shaking his hand. Then, as Kevin reached around me to shake Jane's hand, the full meaning of what he'd just said worked its way through my muddled mind.

"You think I might be a child of Athena?" I said slowly.

He shrugged. "I don't know," he muttered, withdrawing slightly. "How would I know?"

"You do seem pretty clever," Jane supplied.

"But is that a bad thing?" I pushed on.

"I think so," Kevin replied, his brow creasing as his expression darkened. "I've yet to meet a child of Athena who isn't a stuck-up know-it-all."

"Ah," I mouthed almost silently. Before the inevitable awkward silence could set in, I asked, "So who's your Olympian parent?"

That certainly solicited a change of mood, though not in the way I expected. Kevin seemed to step back without actually standing up or even moving, and his shoulders drooped inwards slightly. His expression went through a smooth transition from angry and irritated to embarrassed and awkward.

"Um," he mumbled. "I'm a son of Ares."

I frowned, really not understanding why he was suddenly so metaphorically red-faced.

"Ares," Jane said. "He's the god of war, I think. What's so bad about him?"

As she spoke, I considered the son of Ares in question. His aura was red, white and grey. As I noted how calm it was, I put two and two together. I had known Kevin for all of fifteen minutes, but I didn't need to be his best and oldest friend to see that he wasn't exactly warlike. My eyes subconsciously drifted over to the cabin that was the best candidate for being the Ares cabin. With its blood-red paint and gory decorations, it sure didn't seem like somewhere Kevin would be comfortable, considering he was the one who'd actually _broken up_ the argument in the cabin.

"Ah," I muttered.

"What?" Jane whispered.

"Yup," Kevin said forlornly. "I'm not exactly known for being like my dad. Most of my siblings find me a bit of an embarrassment."

I nodded, feeling a sudden surge of companionship towards Kevin. How many times had I been in the exact same situation, where I just didn't fit in with everyone else? If I had a penny for every such occasion, I'd be a millionaire.

"Why? What are children of Ares usually like?" Jane asked, leaning forward.

Kevin peered thoughtfully into the fire, as he said, "War and battle is what they're all about. Most of them are only happy if they're in some kind of confrontation. Most kids of Ares are happiest when they're hitting someone over the head."

I nodded queasily. Given my less than successful history with bullies, it sounded like I'd be wise to keep as far away from these Ares kids as possible.

"And I'm not really like that," he went on. "I mean, I'm no wimp. I don't have a problem with battles when they're necessary, but getting into fights for the sake of it really isn't what I like to do."

"And so your siblings dislike you for that?" I asked.

"Mostly," Kevin said. "There's only one thing I have that stops them from ignoring me entirely."

He hesitated, and Jane prompted him, "What is it?"

"Well, I don't like to brag, and I'm not always good at it, but sometimes I can be very good at coming up with strategies."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he said awkwardly. "There's been a few times where I've planned a pretty complex and almost unbeatable strategy. I nearly managed to win us capture-the-flag against the Hunters."

I had no idea who the Hunters were, but I had enough questions without starting on a new line of inquiry, so I said, "But? I hear a 'but' in your voice."

Kevin gave me a bemused look. "You're not exactly shy, are you? Straight-to-the-point, no tactful approach to the question. You're like a detective or something."

"Um," I said blankly, taken aback. I'd been called a know-all, a weirdo, a lunatic, but no-one had ever called me a detective. That just seemed silly. "I dunno. It's just how I think."

"Then your mind must be a very busy place," he said, a small smile on his lips.

"You have no idea," I muttered.

We sat in silence for a few moments, looking out across the scrapbook of demigodly residences. I stared at each cabin, trying to sense some connection or stirring of recognition deep inside me, but all I felt was the steady rumble of hunger. No spark of energy sizzled through me as I examined the myriad types of buildings, and not one of the quite frankly bizarre decorations attracted me or drew me in like a moth to a proverbial flame.

(Which may've been a good thing, because if I was a moth with any sense at all, I ought to keep as far away from those hot flames as possible.)

As I stood there, floating along on one of my typical thought-rambles, I realised that Kevin had artfully managed to avoid answering my last question.

"Well?" I said quietly.

He sighed heavily, but didn't say anything, as he gathered his thoughts. I turned towards him, but didn't say anything either - I've often found that silence can draw out more information than a hundred questions. Jane yawned, but didn't say anything: perhaps she was worn out being happy.

Finally, after carefully examining his shoes for three or four minutes, Kevin said, "The thing is… I've had a few successes, but usually my plans fail. I have brilliant ideas, but most of the time I can't work out how to make them into reality. Only two or three out of every fifty of my ideas have any success. I don't know what's wrong with me sometimes. It's like I have a block, and apart from some rare situations, I can't push through it. And every time I fail, I become more convinced that I can never succeed."

I nodded, and Jane started to supply some presumably helpful idea, when the sound of a horn being blown resounded across the camp.

"Dinnertime!" Kevin said, his face brightening. "Come on, I'll show the two of you where to sit in the dining pavilion."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

_"Which just shows you that people are the same everywhere," said Gaspode. He assessed this sentence, and added: "Even when they're wolves."_

_–_Terry Pratchett, 'The Fifth Elephant'

* * *

The camp's dining pavilion was less haphazard than the cabins, though not by much. There were twelve large tables, which looked like they'd been in the same spot for decades, and then there were other smaller tables, ranging from small and circular to long and narrow. The size of the twelve older tables didn't seem to be in proportion to the number of people sitting at them - three or four had only a couple of people, and one or two were completely empty. The smaller tables, however, seemed more balanced, with each one almost exactly fitting the number of people sitting there.

At one long table sat Chiron, Mr. D and a number of satyrs. I scanned their faces, but I didn't see Bob among them.

"Each table is for a different cabin," Kevin explained, waving at the wide array of furniture from where we stood at the edge of the pavilion. "You eat at the table of your Olympian parent, with almost no exception."

"Where's the Nyx table?" Jane asked, her eagerness returning.

"Over there," Kevin said, pointing at a small, empty table near the other end of the pavilion. "But you don't sit there until you've been claimed."

"And what if you aren't claimed?" I asked him.

"Well, then, you sit at the Hermes table," he said, pointing at one of the older tables.

I squinted at the teenagers huddled around the Hermes table. There was three girls and three boys; two looked about thirteen, three were probably fifteen or sixteen, and the last could have been as old as eighteen. Despite the variety in ages, they all looked quite similar - each one had a vaguely elfin, mischievous face, and the general air that usually accompanies people who are extremely friendly and helpful right up until you leave your wallet lying in front of them.

Or maybe I was merely being prejudiced against children of the _god_ of _thieves_. Stereotyping is wrong, of course, kids.

"So, I'll leave you to it, Cyrus, Jane," Kevin said, disrupting my musings. "I have to go to my table."

I nodded. "Okay," I muttered, trying not to feel like I was being abandoned to fend for myself, even though I kind of was. "See you later."

"Bye!" Jane chirped. Her self-imposed good mood was made a little odder seeing as how she was the daughter of the personification of _night_.

I watched Kevin walk over to the Ares cabin, and gave the occupants of that table a brief examination. Suffice to say that they didn't look like people I'd want to meet down an alley on a cold dark night.

"Well, come on!" Jane said, already on her way to the Hermes table.

I took a deep breath, reaching for a calm, unfazeable frame of mind. No such frame of mind exists, of course, but denial is a great thing. I checked my pockets absentmindedly, and followed Jane, walking towards the table of thieves– or should I say the Hermes table? Is mythological stereotyping immoral?

Oh, who cares. I'm like my father - I stereotype. It's faster.

I tried to make myself look as small and inconspicuous as possible, but Jane rather ruined that approach by marching in front of the table and almost yelling, "Hi there!" Immediately, every Hermesian eye turned towards us, and a lot of said eyes narrowed in suspicious interest.

"Hi," I said awkwardly, standing next to Jane at the end of the table. I tried not to look anyone in the eye, while also trying not to look like a typical bashful newbie, which is quite a tricky balance to strike.

No-one said anything back right away, and Jane seemed to view me as the spokesman for us both, so I plowed on. "I just got here this afternoon, and I haven't been claimed yet, so–"

"Really?" a surprised female voice said suddenly.

I glanced over at the speaker. She was the eldest teen at the table, and her mischievous face was restrained by a weary expression that looked odd in someone so young. She was not especially pretty, but nor was she ugly - she looked merely average, with dark hair and bright eyes. She wore the garish orange T-shirt I'd seen on many other campers, and her frame was thin but sturdy. Her aura was, like many of the other Hermes children, a frothy mixture of green and red which rollicked about on her shoulders and back.

"Um, yeah," I said, meeting her blue eyes, which, on inspection, were more playful than mischievous. She smiled, and I relaxed a good deal.

"We haven't had an unclaimed demigod at this table for three or four years," she said, a Southern accent pronounced in her voice. "The gods have been awful careful to claim all their offspring ever since the wars."

She stood up, and stepped over to me, holding out her hand. "Still, you're welcome here. I'm Anna, Anna Fields, head counsellor for the Hermes cabin."

I shook her hand, relaxing some more. It was nice to not have to drag answers out of someone for once.

"I'm Cyrus Wright," I said. "I honestly don't know if I _am_ a half-blood."

Anna chuckled. "How many times have I heard that… Josh, remember when you arrived last year? You were sure that the whole thing was a trick to rob your new phone."

The thirteen-year-old boy grinned sheepishly, and jerked his head at the girl, who could have been his twin, sitting next to him. "Yeah, but Sophie thought we'd been kidnapped and knocked out, and that the whole thing was a drug-induced dream."

"And I'm Jane Welles," the daughter of Nyx said. "I _know_ I'm a half-blood. I've met my mother, Nyx."

"We haven't had a shadow demigod in a while," Anna said, frowning thoughtfully. "Nyx is quite reclusive - she has a child maybe once every fifteen years or so."

"Shadow demigod?" Jane echoed

"A child of one of the shadow gods," Anna explained. "'Shadow gods' is just a nickname for Hades, Erebus, Nyx, and a couple others - the gods who mainly hang around in the Underworld. Please, sit down."

There was space at the end of the table, and Jane and I both sat down. As soon as the daughter of Nyx was settled in her seat, a holographic image flickered into life over her head. It seemed to be a symbolic picture of a night sky - deep darkness broken only by the shiny pinpricks of the stars and the majestic glow of a crescent moon.

This holographic picture caused quite a stir - nearly everyone in the pavilion noticed it, and several people clapped. After the moment of applause, Chiron rose to his hooves.

"Thanks to the goddess Nyx for claiming her child," he said ceremoniously. "On behalf of the camp, I am honoured to invite the daughter of Nyx to take her place at the table of her mother." He bowed slightly, gesturing towards the table in question.

Jane looked uncertain, and glanced at me searchingly. I shrugged, not knowing any more than her what was going on. Anna quickly jumped in, however, saying helpfully, "You have to go over to the Nyx table now, Jane. This is all part of the custom."

Jane nodded, and I could tell from the tension in her face that she was painfully aware of all the campers staring at her. She stood up carefully, and hurried over to the table Chiron had indicated.

Another brief wave of applause rippled through the pavilion, and the ceremony was over. I watched Jane settle down at the Nyx table, and suddenly felt a wave of loneliness.

"Well, looks like you're the only newbie now!" Anna said, not exactly helping my mood. I nodded, and cast around for a change of subject.

Anna turned to one side, and called out an almost indecipherable name. In the blink of an eye, a slight girl with brown hair, brown eyes and brown clothes had appeared by her side. I blinked twice, and saw that she had a deep brown aura, almost pure chocolate-brown. It glowed all around her body, and seemed to flow down her legs and into the earth.

"This is Rhodes," Anna told me. "She's one of the tree nymphs who help with serving food around here. What would you like?"

I blinked. I hadn't expected the camp to have a supernatural waiter service on top of everything else. A foreboding feeling that I'd have to cough up some greenbacks went through me as I said, "Um, vegetable pizza?"

The nymph nodded, and vanished. A second later, she returned, bearing a large platter of pizza. A plate was already sitting in front of me, and the nymph waited while I loaded it up with food, then she vanished with the platter.

I couldn't help but think that they could do with people like that in McDonald's.

"What do you want to drink?" Anna asked next, taking a bite out of her burger.

"Um…" I looked at her, wondering if she was about to conjure a water cooler out from under the table, or a Coke fountain from beneath her seat.

"Don't tell me, tell the glass." she said knowledgeably, waving at the glass that sat next to my plate.

I gave her a weird look, which was understandable, considering how she'd just told me to talk to an inanimate object. "What? Just say the name of the drink into the glass?" I asked skeptically.

She nodded.

Eyeing her warily, watching out for any hint that she was trying to make a fool of me, I picked up the glass, and muttered into it, "Sparkling water."

It filled up with water so fast I nearly dropped it in astonishment. I stared at it in amazement, then said, "Ice."

The water immediately froze in the tumbler, nearly cracking the glass.

I looked at in dismay, before glancing at Anna. She shrugged, and said, "The glasses don't seem to work too well for more than one order…"

I sighed. What kind of a world was it, when not even _enchanted_ glasses did what you expected?

I muttered, "Sparkling water," once more, and the liquid thawed out instantly.

I began to eat, and as I did so, I watched all that went on around me.

The Hermes kids at my table were a little rowdy, but they mainly talked in threes or twos. Me, being new and inherently disinclined towards social interaction with strangers, stayed quiet, which seemed to be fine by them.

I slowly took in the whole pavilion as I mowed through the pizza. The Ares cabin were clearly the loudest and rowdiest, and I wondered if they were all very much extroverts, or if they were being so noisy on the off-chance that it would start a nice relaxing fight.

I spotted Zack at what was presumably the Athena table. That was one of the quietest tables, and I noticed a number of the campers there casting irritated looks towards the noisy Ares table. All the children of Athena had the same blonde hair and serious eyes, and nearly all of them were focussed, not on their dinner, but on books or computers. Two or three of them were huddled together, discussing God knew what.

I wondered for a moment if I was supposed to say "Zeus knew what" now. When something really annoying happened, was I meant to mutter "For Olympus' sake", instead of "For God's sake"?

Deep questions.

Two of the older tables had only one occupant. One I didn't know, but the other was Nico di Angelo, or the Olive, a name I still can't quite get out of my head.

He was on his own at what was obviously the Hades table. I looked at him carefully for the first time since I'd met him a few hours ago. He sure _looked_ tough and scary, with his dark clothes, black sword and scowl-ridden face, but something didn't seem to fit - the picture wasn't quite right.

I frowned, concentrating. I realised that I was only seeing auras if the person was right in front of me - at a certain distance, the aura became invisible. I closed my eyes for a moment, gathering my focus, and when I reopened my eyes, I strained to see Nico's aura. Slowly, it winked into the visible realm.

When I'd seen it back at the school, I'd thought that Nico's aura was almost entirely black, with little colour to be seen. But as I watched it for a little longer, I saw that his aura was actually layered, and that pure darkness was only on the surface.

I have no idea how I managed to see this. Perhaps the extra focus and effort I was putting into my vision pushed me to a new level of insight. Whatever the reason, it was pretty freaky.

Beneath the top layer of darkness lay other layers of aura. There appeared to be three layers in total - the second layer was a light gray, and it was calmer and more welcoming to look at than the entirely dark layer. The third layer was harder to see, and I pushed myself, squinting as I tried to see–

"Cyrus!" Anna exclaimed, jolting me out of my aura-reading reverie. I jumped, and felt a warm wetness creeping along my arm. I glanced down - somehow, I'd managed to not only overturn my glass, but I'd also gotten my elbow in my pizza.

Everyone else at the table was gazing at me with expressions running the gamut from "Cyrus is a bit strange" to full-on "this guy is a freaking nut job". And, to be honest, both views were entirely plausible.

"Sorry," I muttered in a placatory and probably completely unconvincing tone. I righted my glass, and wiped sauce off my elbow, all the while praying that the others would dismiss my bizarre behaviour.

On the whole, most of them did, returning to their conversation or food. Anna, however, was still giving me a stare that clearly communicated her lack of faith in my sanity.

"You okay?" she asked bemusedly.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," I said. "Fine, fine." I hurriedly finished my pizza before I could do any more damage to it, before muttering, "Just distracted." I paused, trying to think of something that would sound even slightly more convincing, and finally said, "Thinking of home, you know?"

That seemed to satisfy the daughter of Hermes, and she nodded.

"That's Nico di Angelo, the son of Hades," she said, after a moment of silence. "D'you know him?"

"Sort of," I replied. "He picked me up from school, brought me to camp."

"What did you think of him?" Anna asked me carefully.

I shrugged. "He's okay. He's a bit intense."

"Intense," the daughter of Hermes chuckled. "That's a nice way of putting it."

"What do you mean?" I said, giving her a blank look.

"It's commonly known in camp that Nico di Angelo is a bit crazy," Anna replied. "He's seriously emo, not to mention creepy."

"I dunno," I muttered. "He seemed helpful to me."

Someone else at the table asked Anna something unrelated, and she started to talking to them, as I sighed quietly. Even here, it seemed, there were cliques, divisions and prejudices. You'd think there'd be little division or marginalising in a camp where everyone is the product of the affairs of an ancient mythological god, but apparently that was not the case.

It just goes to show - humans are the same everywhere, even when they're only _half_-human.

I went back to staring around the pavilion. I don't have many great skills, but one of the few things I can say I am really good at is watching. If watching was an Olympic sport, my name would be all over the record books.

As a result, it didn't take me long to notice the Dark One sitting at a table on his own on the other side of the pavilion.

My sight flickered back on as I focussed on him, but I relaxed my mind with a jolt - I remembered the effect his aura had had on me when I'd seen it before, and I didn't want to trigger that reaction again. Instead, I eyeballed the Dark One's physical appearance only.

He was wearing the same clothes that he'd had on when I'd seen him in the shop that morning. Now that I couldn't see his aura, he looked far less threatening, and indeed he could have been called handsome. Despite that, I couldn't look at him without thinking of that terrible shadow that enveloped him like a ghostly shroud.

As I watched, he took out a notebook, and made a brief note in it, before swiftly stowing it away again. Then, he checked his watch, and smiled to himself - but it was not a smile of happiness. It was a cruel expression, and even though I was pretty far away from him, I couldn't help but shiver.

Then, he looked up, and stared right at me.

I froze, meeting his eyes. They were hard and angry, even at a distance, and as he stared at me, a curious expression passed over his face, as if he'd been greatly surprised.

He stood up, and I knew in my bones that he was coming my way.

Then, suddenly, Chiron's voice resounded across the pavilion, his tone dark and fearful as he said: "Can I have your attention please?"

Almost every demigod there turned to look at him, and everyone fell silent when they saw the dark, _dark_ expression upon his face.

"You all need to listen very carefully," he said slowly. "I have just received urgent news from Olympus. It has come to the attentions of the gods that something very unfortunate has occurred."

Chiron stopped, and sipped from his glass of water, before saying, "Something has disappeared from Olympus. It seems…" He stopped again, and the silence in the pavilion was so great that I could have heard a pin drop - not that someone _would_ have been dropping pins just then.

Finally, Chiron said, "The Flame of Olympus, the sacred item of Lady Hestia herself, has been stolen."

And immediately, the demigods dissolved into chaos.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

_"Who am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle."_

_–_Lewis Carroll, 'Alice in Wonderland'

* * *

Almost every single demigod was talking very loudly and all at once, but not one of them were being heard. The Hermes table were shouting something about the whole thing being a prank, the Athena cabin were waving books in the air, and the Ares kids looked like they were getting ready to sharpen their swords on the skulls of their enemies.

Through the chaos, I spotted the Dark One as he calmly stood up from his table, apparently not paying any notice to what was going on around him. He brushed off his leather jacket, and strolled out of the pavilion without so much as a backward glance.

This didn't exactly make the Dark One look any less suspicious. I'd read enough detective novels to know that the person acting in a distinct and unusual way is often the most suspect person in the whole story. If this was some kind of crazy mystery story with me as the main character, I'd be racing after the Dark One, all guns blazing.

But, of course, I was not a character in a detective novel, and so instead I had to sit there and watch people arguing over a question when the answer had just strolled out of their sight.

A deep rumbling suddenly shook through the pavilion. I looked around, alarmed. I'd never experienced one before, but it felt like an earthquake was grinding its way through camp.

Then, I saw a large fissure opening in the middle of the floor. I glanced at the table directly behind it, and it wasn't a great surprise to see Nico di Angelo standing there, his hands extended out as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea. His eyes were closed, his forehead rumpled with concentration, as he slowly forced open the crack, causing a great deal of noisy rumbling and ominous grinding. His aura was tensed as he used his power, and small waves of energy rippled out of it, down his arms and into the ground.

Within a matter of moments, the campers had all fallen silent. Nico opened his eyes, and a small jet of blue fire shot out of the fissure. Dozens of people reared back in fear, but the son of Hades looked on with an expression filled with irritation and, perhaps, condescension.

"Decided to be quiet, have we?" he called out, his voice deeply sardonic. Nico brought his hands together with an unusually loud clap - the crack sealed shut instantly, with not a trace of its existence visible.

"Thank you for your… _assistance_, Nico," Chiron said, his voice oddly frail. "Now, this is a highly important and sensitive matter. Therefore, all the counsellors must have a meeting in twenty minutes. Then the counsellors can spread the information amongst the rest of the campers. In the meantime, don't give up hope!"

He paused for only a moment more before galloping off, at top speed, to the Big House. Mr. D had already vanished.

Anna turned to me, and nodded solemnly. "Well," she said. "This is big."

"Really?" I asked. "How so?"

"Nothing like this has happened since the war with the giants, and the sacred item of a god hasn't been stolen since Zeus's master bolt was stolen, but that was years and years ago," she said.

The campers began to break up from their tables. Some hurried in the direction of the cabins, with alarm rippling through their faces and their auras; others hung around, going to talk to their friends at other tables.

I watched Jane as she sat on the edge of her seat, glancing around uncertainly, peering hopefully at passers-by. No-one spoke to her, though, and eventually she made her way back over to the Hermes table.

"What do you think that was all about?" she asked, as she plopped down in the (now empty) seat across from me.

"I have no idea," I said, shaking my head. "No clue at all."

"Me neither," Jane said, gazing around the pavilion with her dark eyes. "It's exciting, though! I was worried that I'd be here all summer without anything happening, but I've only been here a few hours and things are already really happening."

I nodded doubtfully. Jane's eagerness for excitement reminded me of how I'd been feeling only that morning - but now, I wasn't so sure if I wanted to experience thrilling events. It was all starting to seem like an awful inconvenience.

"How about I show you your cabin, Jane?" Anna suggested. "There's a lot of cabins for the minor gods, and it can be hard to find your way around them."

"_Minor_ gods?" Jane echoed flatly.

"It's just a general term," the daughter of Hermes said airily, waving her hand. "Any god that isn't one of the Olympian Twelve is called a minor god, except Hades."

"Oh," Jane said, not sounding too impressed. "Okay then. See you later, Cyrus."

"See you," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. I heard the two of them stand up and walk away, but I kept my eyes shut for another moment. There was something oddly enjoyable about the darkness of having your eyes closed. I always found it to be very calming.

I opened my eyes in time to see a small pack of half-bloods sauntering by. Every one of them looked like they'd just stepped out of a high-class fashion magazine. When airbrushing was invented, these people wrinkled their noses in disgust. I'd seen hand-sculpted statues that were rougher than these people.

It seemed pretty likely that they were the Aphrodite kids.

"Oi, Cyrus," a voice said in my ear, making me jump for probably the fifth time that day.

(I'm a scaredy-cat, okay? Don't judge.)

I turned to find Kevin standing right next to me. How he'd managed to get up right next to me without me noticing was a testament to the fact that I had been completely zoned out, for probably the _twentieth_ time that day.

(Maybe this is why I'm so easily scared…)

"Hi," I said awkwardly. "Um. Aren't you spending some quality time with your siblings?"

We both looked towards the Ares table. Every single camper there…

Well, let's just say that they all had their war faces on.

"Er, no," Kevin said. He glanced at me as he sat down next to me, and we both bursted out laughing.

"Can't imagine why," I chuckled.

We sat in silence for a little while. I wracked my brains, trying to think of something to say. I didn't really want to annoy him with more questions, but questions were the only thing I could think of. What the hell was the deal with these wars people kept mentioning? And why was everyone getting in such a panic over the Flame of Olympus? I had a vague recollection that a god's sacred item was their symbol or something, and I knew it had symbolical power, but Chiron had been so serious, I could've sworn that the keycodes to the nuclear warheads had been stolen and sold to Yosemite Sam.

"I bet you're wondering what the big deal is," Kevin said suddenly.

"Well, yeah," I answered, giving him a sidelong glance. "I didn't know you were a mind-reader. Is that another demigod talent?"

"Nope," he said. "Not magic skill. Just common sense." He paused, before going on to say, "All the Olympian gods have their sacred items, their symbols–"

"Their symbols of power, I know," I cut in. "But I don't see what's so important about a symbol of power. A model of a nuclear bomb isn't the same as an _actual_ nuclear weapon."

"You'd think so," Kevin said, tracing the grain of the table with his index finger. "But in the world of myths, symbols are more potent than anything else. Some people say that the gods came about because people in the ancient times made the symbols of the gods and believed in them so much, they came to life."

He sighed, before going on, "But yeah. The symbols of power, for the gods, hold the majority of their strength. Those symbolic items are filled with so much belief, they're more powerful than most things ever created by us humans."

"We're not humans," I reminded him. "Well, _you_ aren't, at least. I don't know about me."

"What do you mean?"

"I just can't see it," I said, shaking my head. "Everything else makes sense, in a really weird way - the gods, the monsters, even the idea of half-bloods. It probably makes so much sense because I've _seen_ it my whole life. But the idea that _I'm_ a god-human child hybrid… person doesn't sound right to me."

Kevin looked at me thoughtfully for an almost unnervingly long time. Finally, he said, "You really do believe that, don't you?"

"Well, yes," I said shortly, surprised by the odd question. "Why would you ask me something like that?"

"People always say they can't believe it, but they rarely mean it," Kevin said, shrugging. "Usually it's just denial. But with you…" he trailed off.

I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable with the topic. I hate talking about myself - it took weeks for my crazy friend to convince me to record this story - and so I quickly moved back to the symbols of power. "How do you know so much about the gods' symbols?" I asked.

"They're weapons," Kevin answered. "I like to know about weapons and how they work, and what better mythological weapons to study than the ones the gods use?"

"Makes sense," I murmured.

The conversation petered out, and we sat there in silence for a little while. Kevin shifted about in his seat for a couple of minutes, and I did what I do best - stare into space.

Finally, the son of Ares stood up, saying, "Listen… I'd better go talk to my siblings. We have to organise a capture-the-flag thing. It's on next week, that's why I was meeting Zack earlier. Anyway, I'll see you 'round!"

"See you," I said quietly, and he hurried off.

I looked around the pavilion, and saw that I was the only one left. All the counsellors were presumably at the Big House, and the rest of the campers actually had things to do, unlike me.

The reasonable thing to do would've been to head back to the cabin, get to know the Hermes kids a bit more if I could, and then go to sleep. Thing was, though, I really didn't want to spend any more time with people who were going to treat me with a sort of gentle boredom, or else treat me like the hopeless newbie I was.

Instead, I decided to go for a walk around the camp. It probably wasn't a great idea to go wandering around a mythological training camp on my own, but after the confusion of the day, I wasn't feeling very rational.

I slowly strolled out of the pavilion, and ambled over to the small lake that lay near the centre of the camp.

I stood at the edge of the lake, and gazed over it. Several canoes, each one manned by three or four demigods, were racing from one side of the body of water to the other. A small pier stretched out from the edge of the shore, while a stream ran into the lake on one side and out the other.

I was standing on an upraised patch of ground, and it gave me a good vantage point to take in the whole camp. Behind me lay the dining pavilion and the cabins; behind them was what looked like an arena, a couple of one-storey buildings, and, further away again, stables. On one side of the stables lay a large field, fenced off on three sides; while on the other, a large expanse of trees stretched out into the distance.

Yet more facilities were to be found on the opposite side of the lake. On the left, a few yards down the shore, stood a tall climbing wall. A couple of teenagers were carefully clambering up the side. Every now and then, it juddered ominously, and on one occasion a small river of lava flowed down from the top, almost throwing one climber off the wall.

I blinked. That looked like _real_ lava. Talk about taking training to a super-real level.

Directly across from me, further away from the edge of the lake, was a large amphitheater, like something you'd see in an old Roman history book. It towered over the surrounding land - it was probably four or five storeys tall. I knew enough about amphitheaters and their connection with gladiator fights to feel sure that I'd be keeping as far away from that place as possible.

Then, to my right, closer to the Big House, was a volleyball court and a small hall of some kind. Beyond was the hill, and the imposing pine tree I'd seen when I'd arrived.

I gazed around, taking it all in. It was all very impressive, with reams of facilities, and lots of things to do. It was undoubtedly a great place to spend the summer.

And I wanted nothing more than to get away from it.

You can put someone in the grandest palace in the land, but if they don't like it, they're better off being in a hovel, so long as it's their home. That's how I felt, standing alone in a camp for people who didn't quite make sense, with facilities that were the mother, father and brother of every adventure playground ever.

None of it was familiar, none of it I understood, and none of it was home. It didn't help that I _really_ didn't feel like I belonged there. I was drawn to no cabin and no god. I didn't feel adventurous and gung-ho, like most of the half-bloods. I didn't know who anyone was, no-one knew who I was…

And I was beginning to feel like _I_ didn't even know who I was.

Ever since I'd seen a deeply shocking event happen in Central Park, I'd known that I was in touch with some other reality hidden to most other people. It wasn't that I was special, or different, or magical - I just saw a few things which most other people never noticed. Heck, my mother was like that as well.

Well, mostly. There was always a few things she couldn't see, too: she'd never mentioned being able to see auras, for one.

I'd never thought I was an amazing or destined person because of this, but I had always wanted answers. _Why_ could I see reality on a different level? And _what_ was it that I was seeing?

Now, after six years of being in the dark, I was starting to get a piece of the puzzle. Pieces of darkness were being replaced with pieces of light, and I was starting to wonder if I really did want answers. Maybe there are some questions not worth asking, maybe there were some answers not worth knowing. If the truth is a dangerous thing, was it better to be ignorant and safe, rather than enlightened and in danger?

I'd been, as I said, in the dark for years. Now, I'd been told about this world of living myth, and it seemed like light was going to be cast on things. But was that the case? Maybe, just maybe, finding out more would only make things darker. Perhaps by moving forward, I wouldn't get closer to clarity - I'd move even deeper into the shadows.

Suddenly, a hand landed on my shoulder, and I nearly jumped into the lake.

I blinked. At some point in my deep thoughts, I'd sat down on the ground. I'd really been zoned out this time, as the sun was almost set.

Anna was standing over me, looking slightly harassed. "Chiron sent me to get you," she said, her barely-concealed tone of irritation communicating exactly how happy she was to be babysitting the newbie. I couldn't really blame her. "Curfew is in a few minutes. We have to go back to the cabin."

I slowly got to my feet, brushing off my trousers. "Curfew?" I asked, as I straightened up. "What happens if I don't go in?"

"Well, the harpies might eat you…" she said in a tone that was a bit too nonchalant. Seriously, was the life of a demigod so crazy that people got used to the idea of _carnivorous curfew-enforcers_?

I was tempted to come out with an expression of shock and disbelief, but I'd been doing that all day and it was starting to annoy even me. Instead, I gestured vaguely, and nodded. "After you, then," I said quietly.

Anna led me back to the cabin, not speaking again. She wasn't hostile towards me specifically, though - it was just that my presence was getting in the way of what she really wanted to be doing.

Nothing like unintentionally causing inconvenience to other people to make you feel good about yourself.

As I sat down on my bed, a wave of tiredness hit me like a wave of potatoes. It had been a long and crazy day, and now the only thing I wanted was sleep. Most other people in the cabin were still having conversations, but I quickly got ready for bed, avoiding any and all questions or inquisitive looks. Within half an hour, I was in bed, falling asleep.

My last thought before oblivion claimed me was that if something came to kill me, I hoped I wouldn't wake up before I died.

Cheery stuff.

* * *

When I woke up, it felt like I'd been asleep for only a few minutes, but when I looked at my watch (which I'd left on my wrist, to put off any would-be thieves), it was almost six o'clock.

I sighed, and tried to will myself back to sleep, but it was no use. Just like yesterday morning at home (had that been yesterday? It felt like weeks), I had woken up, and that was that.

I lay there for a little while, before coming to the conclusion I usually reach when I wake up like that - if I was going to be awake, there was no point lying in bed. It did nothing except make me bored and irritable.

So, being careful not to wake anyone else up (just because I was awake didn't mean I wanted company!), I slid out of bed and began to get dressed.

It was only when I pulled on my jeans and felt a distinct lack of weight in one pocket that I realised I'd been robbed. I dug around in my trouser pocket and, sure enough, my phone was gone.

"Dammit," I cursed under my breath. Talk about getting the day off to a bad start.

Well, on the bright side, there weren't many people who could have taken it - there were exactly six possible culprits.

Deciding to wait till later to try to get the phone back, I finished dressing and slipped out, stepping over debris and rubbish as gingerly as possible.

I got out of the cabin, and took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. It seemed unlikely that anyone would be around for at least an hour, and hopefully I'd be able to use that time to get my head in order, so I started walking, heading for the lake again. There was something about water that I always found calming, though you wouldn't catch me dead actually swimming. Well, you might, but I would certainly _be_ dead.

I was almost outside of the cabin area when I heard the distinct (and distinctly ominous) sound of a footstep.

I stopped, and almost growled in annoyance, but I stayed quiet and listened. The footsteps got louder as the person who was apparently suicidal enough to annoy me before nine o'clock approached from behind.

I drew in a calming breath, and turned around to face he who walked behind.

Then I nearly had a heart attack.

Standing less than ten feet away, still wearing his leather jacket and dark trousers, was the symbol of my mythological misery.

"Morning, Cyrus," the Dark One said, the smile on his face completely cancelled out by the ominous rippling in his aura. "I was hoping I'd catch you."


	9. Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

_He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare,_

_And he who has one enemy will meet him everywhere._

_–_Ali Bin Abi Thalib

* * *

He was waiting for a response, perhaps even expecting me to run away, but I remained still and silent. I stared at him as levelly as possible, and tried to hide my fear.

It wasn't that the Dark One had a very imposing physical presence, or a particularly scary face, though the beginnings of those villainous aspects were certainly there. No, it came down to the pitch-black aura that rippled and pulsated around him like a kind of dark, windswept shroud. Even Nico, the son of freaking _Hades_, didn't have an aura that intense.

After a moment, I drew in my breath and focussed on shutting out his aura. I could feel it reaching into my mind like a shadowy claw, and I knew I couldn't let it in - if I did, I wouldn't be able to _think_, never mind coherently deal with the Dark One himself. Luckily I've had a lot of practice at repressing my sight: within seconds I was able to ignore the aura and focus on his face.

I considered what to say. There were a lot of questions I could have asked him, but I went for one that hopefully wouldn't make me sound too terrified.

"How do you know my name?" I asked, in what was _meant_ to be a quiet, calm voice but probably came out as a whispery, wobbly squeak.

The Dark One stepped closer, closing the distance between us down to several feet. I resisted the urge to turn and run for the woods.

"I know your name, Cyrus," he said conversationally, "because I like to keep track of the important people."

I blinked, paused, and blinked again.

Had the Dark One just called me _important_?

"Oh?" I said slowly, with great calm and collectedness.

(And squeakiness.)

"Yep," he said, finally coming to a stop barely three feet away from me. "You don't know it yet, Cyrus, but you're at the centre of something big."

I stared at him blankly. For a moment, my fear was replaced with sheer incredulity. What the hell was this guy talking about?

"Walk with me," the Dark One said, turning around. His tone was light, but I could hear the steel behind it. Again I was tempted to bolt, but a hope that this guy might be able to give me some answers made me walk along with him. Somehow, perhaps because he'd been there when the madness had been just beginning, I felt that he was important to my story.

"What do you think of it all?" the Dark One asked me, as we strolled towards the fire at the centre of the cabin area.

"Of what?" I replied, thrown off (again) by his change of tack.

"All this," he said, waving his hand at the camp. "The gods, walking among men. The half-bloods, thrown into a complex and dangerous life. The constant lack of information, and the sense that you're being lied to."

I gulped. I hadn't expected any of the Dark One's ramblings to make any sense, but now he was starting to sound pretty darn reasonable.

Then again, con artists always sound reasonable - right up until you've walked into their trap.

He was gazing at me steadily, waiting for an answer. I stared back at him as coolly as I could, considering that he was several inches taller than me.

"I don't know _what_ to think of it," I finally replied. "I just got here. It's all new to me. Of course I haven't been told everything. It's too soon for that."

As you may have gathered, those weren't _entirely_ my real feelings, but I felt pretty sure that complete honesty wasn't the way to go with this guy. My gut told me that he was playing a game with me, and so I was going to play one back.

_I hope_ _this guy likes chess_, I thought.

"Then what does your gut instinct say?" the Dark One said swiftly, changing tack once again. His first manner of questioning clearly hadn't gotten the response he'd expected, and now he was taking a different approach.

_Real smooth, dude_, I thought. _Appeal to the wounded emotional side. Talk about insulting - just because I'm basically a kid doesn't mean I'm a idiot._

I shrugged slowly. "I try to avoid going on gut instinct and hunches," I said impassively. "They can't be relied on, so why bother with them?"

The Dark One came to an abrupt halt, and turned to face me. I met his gaze, and was surprised to see that his face was filled with puzzlement and frustration. I felt a twinge of triumph as I saw that I really _wasn't_ giving the Dark One the replies he was looking for.

"Look, Cyrus," he said, in a soft friendly tone. "I know a lot more about this world than you do."

My mental hackles rose up a _lot_. I know from experience that people using soft friendly tones are _not _looking out for your best interests, and whenever someone says something as patronising as, "I know more than you," I have an overwhelming urge to introduce his or her head to my favourite thesaurus.

"It's all very complex," the Dark One went on, his tone soothing - or it would have been if I were stupid enough to fall for such an obvious trick. "It's hard to know what to believe, but I can tell you from hard experience that the gods _cannot_ be trusted."

His eyes were boring into mine now, and I could see a fanatical glint shining out. I didn't know if his spiel was true, but I could see that the Dark One himself sure believed it.

"I once thought that the gods were my friends," he continued, dark eyebrows scrunched up together. "But then I learned that was not the case. Not one god who sits on Olympus is a friend of yours or mine, and not _one_ of them will help you." He extended his hand to me, slowly, as though he were approaching a wounded animal. "You need a guide to help you make sure the gods don't use you as a pawn. Someone to tell you both sides of the story, and to help you make the right choice." He paused, taking in a deep and solemn breath - finally the crucial point of his speech had arrived. "I can be that someone," he said finally, nodding slightly, and smiling in a reassuring way.

The Dark One watched me, waiting for my answer. For a moment, I kept my expression neutral, as I considered what he was saying. It did make sense, in a way. I certainly hadn't seen any proof that the gods were out to help me, or that I could trust them in any way. For all I knew, I could die right then and there, and they wouldn't bat an eyelid.

But at the same time, I had a _lot_ of proof that I couldn't trust this guy. Every time I'd seen him in the last twenty-four hours, he'd been acting shifty and mysterious, and now here he was sneaking up on me at the crack of dawn and giving me the join-me-or-regret-it sales pitch. Even if I couldn't see his dark and scary aura, I'd be suspicious, but that suspicion was magnified a hundredfold by the crazy-ass dark fog that enveloped the guy. I don't have any prejudices against black, but being swathed in eerie dark fog really isn't something that screams "TRUSTWORTHY."

And it didn't help that he sounded, in every possible way, like he was trying to sell me something that wasn't worth the price.

"Screw you," I said quietly, stepping away.

"What?" the Dark One said, anger seeping into his tone. He lowered his hand slowly, still glaring at me.

"You heard me," I said. "Take your weird spiel and stick it where the sun don't shine."

"I'm trying to help you, Cyrus," he snapped, in a tone that _really_ didn't sound like someone who was only "trying to help".

"Yeah, sure, and my middle name is Batman," I muttered. "Look, weirdo. I don't know where I am, I don't know _who_ I am, but I do know one thing - I can figure things out for myself. Hell, who _are_ you? I don't even know your _name_!"

The Dark One backed away slowly, his dark eyes as cold as a dead man's fingertips. His fists were clenched at his sides, and I suddenly became intensely aware of the sword-holding scabbard that was dangling from his waist.

"The name is Jake Wilson," he said quietly, slowly, _angrily_. "And you'd better remember it, Cyrus. You don't realise the trouble you will bring down upon your head if you don't listen."

"Oh, I'll listen, alright," I said, my voice rising. "I'll listen to _logic_. Not some random psycho with a da–"

I stopped quickly before I blurted out that I could see his aura. To cover myself, I turned away from him, and started walking in the opposite direction.

"You'll get one more chance," Jake Wilson called. "Then it'll begin. A war is coming."

"Whatever," I called back, not even looking around.

He chuckled slightly, which didn't exactly make him seem any less creepy, and muttered, "I warned you, Lightbringer."

"_What_ did you call me?" I snapped, spinning around.

But he was gone.

I did a three-sixty, staring at everything, peering into the shadows of a cabin that stood a few feet away, cursing all the while, but he was nowhere to be seen. The Dark One, or Jake Wilson, as I probably had to call him now, had vanished into thin air, no doubt through shadow-travel.

This didn't exactly improve my mood.

I sighed, and rubbed my eyes. I could already feel the dull but hard tension of a headache building at the back of my skull, and I hadn't even had breakfast yet.

I took one last glance around, but the Dark One had definitely gone. I tried not to think about the possibility that he could spring out from behind a wall and issue a neat divorce to my head and neck.

There are some places in your mind where you really shouldn't go.

I resumed my walk towards the lake, and began brooding over the conversation with the Dark One. First, I had to decide what to call him - this may sound like a trivial concern, but I always feel that finding the right name for someone helps to put them in context. Finally, I decided to call him Wilson - it was less ominous than 'Dark One', but not as friendly as 'Jake.'

That important matter aside, I chewed over what he'd said. Most of it had been boring salesman spiel, but there were two things, at the start and at the end of the speech, that had been rather interesting.

First was when he'd said that I was 'at the centre of something big.'

I frowned, thinking, as I approached what I now considered my thinking-spot: the raised ground where I'd brooded the night before.

Then, the last thing Wilson had said was, 'I warned you, Lightbringer.'

Now what the hell did _that_ mean?

I sighed again as I sat down on the ground. The lake was still and quiet, as was the rest of the camp, though I could make out a couple of people over at the dining pavilion.

So I was… what? A Lightbringer? What did that mean?

It was possible that everything Wilson had said was part of the con, but I didn't think that was the case. Most of the stuff about the gods had seemed a bit iffy, but the two things about me being important did chime in with other stuff.

Before you ask, yes, I can be a bit egotistical - I think it comes from always seeing things more clearly than almost everyone else. Sometimes I really _do_ think I'm a great person, but on the other hand, I never think I'm an important person. My parents made sure of that.

But what with my father's bizarre behaviour, the fact that I wasn't fitting very neatly in at the camp so far, and Wilson's strange comments, I was starting to feel pretty sure that something bigger was going on, and I was a part of it, in some way.

I scowled at the ground in front of me. Despite of all my suspicions and theories, I had no answers, and it didn't take a genius to see that the only person at the camp who would or could tell me anything was Chiron, and I knew these weren't things he'd just _tell_ me.

Something had to happen, I decided. Something had to happen to me that would put pressure on Chiron or the gods or whoever to tell me what the hell was going on. Normally I hope for a quiet day, but on that morning I found myself praying that something very dramatic would happen - only then would the facts come to light.

The sound of a car starting floated down from the hill. I looked up to see a number of people gathered around a bus. As I watched, three of them boarded it. I couldn't make out auras at that distance, but I thought I recognised the figures of Nico di Angelo and Jake Wilson.

I shook my head. It was probably just my morbid imagination playing tricks on me. There was no way fate would be so cruel as to put _Jake Wilson_ on what could only be the quest to save the Flame of Olympus.

I tried to think of something else, and my mind fell upon the fact that everyone at the camp seemed to have an aura. The day before, I hadn't been mixing with the campers too much and so had managed to avoid the headache of seeing so many auras, but I'd have to spend _all_ of today with the campers.

I groaned, and rubbed my eyes again. I had a horrible feeling that this was going to be a _bad_ day.

My thoughts of misery were disrupted as the bus's engine revved, and took off down the hill. I watched it disappear from sight, sure that it was the rescue mission for Hestia's sacred item. Why else would it be leaving so early? I prayed that I was wrong about the Dark One being on board, because with Jake Wilson involved in the mission, there was no doubt that it would go according to plan.

(In hindsight, I probably should've gone straight to Chiron at that point, and told him my suspicions, but my pride and scorn at other people's failure to see what I found so obvious held me back, and Wilson went off on the quest to wreak whatever chaos he could.

Looking back now, years later, I feel like a fool because I said nothing. How much trouble could have been saved if I'd spoken then? I could have stopped a war and saved more people than you can count.

But I sat there, on the ground, and didn't realise that my first chance to actually use my sight in a useful way had quite literally disappeared over the horizon.)

I sat there for a little longer, brooding over the whole thing, before my thoughts were interrupted by the growl of my stomach. I promptly rose, and headed for the pavilion.

When I got there, the first of the campers were streaming in. The main table, where Chiron and Mr. D had sat the night before, was laid with all manner of breakfast delights. I got some toast, cereal and tea, and then tottered over to the Hermes table, trying not to spill anything.

I got down to the serious business of eating. I hadn't realised just how hungry I was, and I was almost finished when the rest of my cabin arrived in.

I realised that I'd called the Hermes cabin my own for the first time. A sudden feeling of being at home ran through me, at odds with the rest of my angsty and confused emotions. Perhaps I was starting to adjust to this new world. For all its weirdness, for all its insanity, at that moment, Camp Half-Blood felt just like home.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

_"Whoa," Nico said as he climbed off the bus. "Is that a climbing wall?"_

_"Yeah," I said._

_"Why is there lava pouring down it?"_

_"Little extra challenge."_

–Rick Riordan, 'Percy Jackson and the Titan's Curse'

* * *

Over the next couple of days, I didn't get another opportunity to brood over my talk with Wilson. The time vanished in a hectic blur of training, introductions and more training. I _had_ thought that I was in for a nice, quiet few weeks at camp, but by lunchtime on my first day, it was obvious that that wasn't the case.

"They, uh… they sure keep you busy here, don't they?" I'd said to Anna as I'd sat down to dinner, wincing from numerous bruises and over-stretches - I'd spent the whole morning on the climbing wall, and my trouser leg was slightly scorched to prove it.

The daughter of Hermes hadn't made any reply other than a knowing grin.

Apparently, all new campers got a crash-course introduction to camp and general demigod life. The idea was, Percy Jackson the (very goofy) canoeing instructor explained, to get the new kid introduced to all the different facets of half-blood life as quickly as possible. Once they'd been shown the ropes, they could start focussing on the areas they were skilled in.

Unfortunately, I didn't seem to be skilled in _any_ area. My first session was climbing, and that was nothing but a testament to my chronic lack of coordination. Despite having attended judo classes for several years, I couldn't muster the coordination and speed to get up the wall at any speed beyond that of a snail's.

"Don't worry," climbing instructor Travis Stoll reassured me. "Most people are like on this on the first day."

I gave him a level look. He was a son of Hermes, and in his early twenties, like most of the instructors. He had the usual Hermesian elfin looks, and he was unbelievably swift on his feet. He'd bounded up the wall like a mountain goat, while I struggled to even get _onto_ the wall.

"Really?" I asked him.

"Oh yes," he nodded, his face unnaturally solemn as he suppressed a smile. His aura was a light brown, and it occasionally rustled with waves of yellow.

I spent most of the morning trying to scale that thrice-accursed wall, and before I could blink, it was lunch, and then it wasn't. The afternoon session was canoeing with Percy Jackson, which was a lot less embarrassing. Dinnertime came around pretty fast, much to my relief.

After dinner, Anna suggested that I come along to the amphitheatre.

"No!" I exclaimed, in alarm. "I don't want to be a gladiator!"

She stared at me as if I were from Mars. "We don't have gladiator fights there, silly. We're not _Romans_. We have marshmallow roasting and sing-alongs."

I stared back at her as if _she_ were from Mars. "You're a camp of supernatural mythological teenagers with an amphitheatre, and you use it for _sing-alongs?_"

"Yep," she replied nonchalantly. "Even the children of gods have to relax, right?"

The next day was even more intense. The physical activity was brought to a whole new level in the morning, for I was made work in the forge.

Let me just say - I don't like heat. Whenever the weather gets really hot, I withdraw to a cocoon of air-conditioning and cold bottled water.

Let me tell you something else - forges are _seriously_ freaking hot. When I stepped in there at the start of the morning, I optimistically (or, to be exact, idiotically) thought, "Oh, this won't be too bad. I'm sure I won't be near any of the really hot furnaces."

Once more, the universe demonstrated its great skill for contradicting me. Jake Mason, my instructor (I was beginning to realise that 'instructor' actually meant 'newbie-sitter'), led me over to the sword-making furnace.

I had twenty minutes where I was pretty gung-ho, and that kept me going for a little while. Then I nearly dropped a burning hot piece of metal on my foot, and I lost any and all confidence. The remainder of my time in the forge was characterised by a complete lack of natural skill and a tendency to literally throw things into the bucket of cold water, to the point that poor Jake was almost begging me to leave the forge by the time it hit lunchtime.

"And don't feel like you have to come try it again," he said in a falsely cheerful tone.

"Oh, don't worry," I said grimly. "I won't."

Things got a little better in the afternoon, as I had a class in something which I conceivably had a chance at: archery.

Indeed, I went along to it in a suicidally optimistic mood. If I had good, clear sight, I reasoned, surely I would find it easy to shoot an arrow at a target.

In hindsight, that optimism may've been a _little_ naive.

I soon learned that archery involves a lot more than simply _looking_ at your target. Much to my dismay, I found that it required a good deal of something with which I wasn't exactly overflowing - hand-eye _coordination_.

The session went on for two and a half hours, and I spent the majority of the first hour picking my arrows out of trees, bushes, the ground, and once even my own bow.

Don't ask.

My instructor was Will Solace, a son of Apollo. His aura was gold and blue, which gave him a vaguely regal air. I wasn't sure, but I had a feeling he could hit a bull's-eye twenty feet away with his eyes closed.

Damn godly-parent-given advantages.

Finally, as we passed the hour and a half mark, I began to hit the target with regularity. I wasn't getting any bull's-eyes yet, but things were a little better, and I started to feel slightly less sucky.

We'd been there for two hours, when Will looked up from his phone (he'd been suspiciously quiet for the last forty minutes), and exclaimed, "Wow, Cyrus, that's pretty good!"

I gave him a sidelong look, unsure if he was pulling my leg. That was the first compliment I'd heard since I'd started my initiation into the ways of a half-blood, and the distribution of arrows on my target looked…

Well, suffice to say that it sure didn't look "pretty good" to me.

"Really?" I said, my tone steeped in skepticism.

"Yeah," he nodded, stepping forward and inspecting my target carefully. "I mean, by any _thorough_ standards, it's terrible–"

"Gee, thanks," I muttered. Hey, just because something I've done is awful doesn't mean I want to _hear_ it.

"…but for someone who's never picked up a bow before today, and someone who isn't a child of Apollo, it's fairly impressive!" Will finished.

That stunned me into silence pretty quick. I stared at him as though he was in possession of more than one head. He shifted awkwardly on the spot, and nodded cheerily. Then he stepped to one side, and waved for me to continue.

That made me feel better for the rest of the day, Despite initial appearances, my sight did seem to have _some_ benefit, other than being that weird thing I spend half my time complaining about.

The next morning, however, I had a class that sure as hell didn't improve my self-esteem: Ancient Greek.

My teacher was Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena. I'd spoken to Kevin the night before, and he'd warned me in no uncertain terms not to cross her. Apparently she wasn't someone who took nonsense, or, to use his exact words, she was a "crazy paranoid knife genius."

Things started out promisingly - she met me at the arts and crafts hall, and was laden down with books. She seemed pleasant enough, but her aura was pretty distracting.

I forgot to mention - over those couple of days, I was gradually getting used to seeing auras around literally _everyone_. I couldn't turn around without seeing a cloud of coloured light and fog swathed around a demigod like a psycho cartoon rain cloud.

Annabeth's aura was a stormy grey, like her eyes, but it was shot through with blue and white. Unlike many half-bloods, it was pretty wispy around most of her body, but it was gathered in a sort of cloudy halo around her head. I'd seen something similar around other children of Athena, but hers was very pronounced. Furthermore, when I gazed at her aura for more than a few seconds, I began to feel this enormous pressing weight of expectation, but also of loneliness.

All in all, this was just a _tiny_ bit distracting, but I managed to focus on what Annabeth was actually saying before it was too late.

"All half-bloods, or almost all, are hardwired for the battlefield and for reading Ancient Greek," she said, her tone neat and crisp, like she was delivering a much-practiced lecture. "That's why they almost always have ADHD and dyslexia. ADHD is the manifestation of their heightened battle reflexes, while their dyslexia is caused by their minds being ill-suited to reading English, but well-suited to reading Ancient Greek."

"Um, question," I said, cutting in before the lecture could steam off without me. "I… don't have ADHD. Or dyslexia. Um…"

Annabeth gave me a serious, calculating look, and I was quite sure that she was working out whether or not I was pulling her leg. She nodded slightly, presumably as she decided that I was telling the truth.

"That has been known to happen," she said, flicking through her notes. "There is a very small number of demigods, something like two-percent, who don't have any of the usual symptoms. Often, it's because they had parents who were demigods themselves and were able to mitigate the dyslexia. In other cases, it's because the half-blood isn't battle-oriented. However…" she paused, frowning at a page of statistics.

Annabeth was silent for a few moments, until finally I said, "What is it?"

"It is highly uncommon for a half-blood to have symptoms of neither ADHD _nor_ dyslexia," she said slowly, her brow rumpled in consideration. "And…"

She fell silent for a few moments more, until I had to prompt her again. "And?"

Annabeth raised her head to stare at me as though I had come down from Jupiter via a meteor. "And the last recorded instance of such an occurrence was almost two hundred years ago."

I gulped. That wasn't exactly cheering news. I didn't need to be a genius to know that occurrences that rare were neither random nor unimportant.

(Why couldn't my life be _normal_? I was a _person_, not a freaking character in a _story_, for God's sake.)

The next question rose up to and out of my lips, unbidden. It was one of those questions I really didn't want to ask, but I knew I had no choice.

"Who were they?" I asked, my mouth dry. "Who was the last recorded instance?"

Annabeth spoke the name quietly, as though saying it loudly would burn her very lips: "Abraham Lincoln."

My jaw flopped open.

"It says here that there was much doubt if he even _was_ a demigod," she continued, regaining composure. "He was categorised as a son of Athena, but many people believed he was a mortal, a belief reinforced by the fact that he was never actually claimed."

Annabeth sighed, and placed the page of notes to one side. "Perhaps it's all by chance," she said, though her tone made it clear just how much she believed that. "Now, let's focus on why we're here."

We moved on to studying, or rather _attempting_ to study Ancient Greek, and my strange link to Abraham Lincoln was not mentioned again, though I sure didn't forget about it.

I didn't get much chance to consider it, however, as Annabeth kept me working hard right up until lunchtime. Despite her best attempts to drill the language into me, by the end of the lesson I was probably even more confused about Ancient Greek than I'd been at the start.

"I guess not having dyslexia means I'm useless at this, huh?" I said at the end, smiling weakly. Annabeth, at that stage, looked ready to hit me over the head with the massive dictionary we'd been using, and made no reply beyond a tight nod.

I spent the whole of lunch worrying about my lack of demigod powers. Even if I _was_ a child of a god, if I didn't even possess the skills every other half-blood had, what chance did I have? I figured I could manage without the ability to read Ancient Greek, but supernatural battle reflexes sounded pretty important.

Then again, I reflected, maybe my almost-complete ordinariness would be enough to convince Chiron & Co. that I was just a regular mortal who happened to have very clear sight, and that I was completely unimportant and it was best if I was sent home right that moment. Maybe the whole weird mythy thing would be over in a few days' time, and I could go back to living my nice quiet life.

And maybe pigs would fly.

Still, I couldn't help but find the whole situation vastly ironic - only a few days before, I'd been lamenting my unexciting life, moaning about how I was going to spend the summer helping my dad run the shop. Now, I couldn't think of anything I wanted more. Bring on boredom and being in an empty room for months. At least it was safe and straightforward.

My afternoon session was the perfect antidote to a frantic mind, for it was my introduction to the dangerous art of sword-fighting.

My instructor was one Clarisse La Rue, a daughter of Ares so fearsome in face and aura and body and manner and basically everything ever, I was surprised she even had to fight at all - surely her enemies would turn tail and run as soon as she marched onto the battlefield?

Clarisse had a gruff, blunt way of dealing with me, though she was not mean or overly aggressive. I'd been the newbie enough times in my life to be well-acquainted with that kind of person, so it didn't bother me.

What did bother me was my complete and utter ineptness and inability when it came to even _holding_ a sword.

Let me tell you something: when you see people in the movies and they're swinging swords around like breadsticks, know that it's all an illusion. These things are seriously _heavy_. To start off, Clarisse took me to the weapons shed, and I went through about twenty different swords before I found one I could just about _lift_ without needing a crane and five strong men. I went down through ten more sizes, until Clarisse informed me that I was now holding the lightest sword in the entire camp, and if I didn't shut up and use it already, she would stick it in an uncomfortable place.

Needless to say, I swiftly complied.

Then Clarisse explained, as briefly as possible, the nature of demigod weapons. They were not made of iron or steel, she said, as those metals had no effect on monsters or gods. Instead, they were made of celestial bronze, a powerful, almost magical substance, that could affect monsters and gods, but was powerless when it came to mortals. Half-bloods, however, were equally vulnerable to all weapons, which seemed pretty unfair to me.

Next, I was taught the correct way to hold a sword. You'd think you could simply pick up the sword and go, right? But no. There were certain grips, certain stances, even particular ways to hold your head. It was a lot to remember. Who would've thought sword-fighting could be so complicated?

Finally, in the last half-hour, I started to learn actual swings of the sword. Parries, thrusts, and so on. It was exhausting, and I was terrible at it.

Then Clarisse surprised me.

"Okay, kid," she said. "After dinner, we'll have a sparring session in front of some of the other campers, and test out your skills."

I almost screamed in horror. The last thing I needed was to have my ass kicked from here to Timbuktu, right in front of all the (much more skilled) demigods. I started to splutter in indignation (and fear), but Clarisse was already striding away.

I spent all of dinner worrying over this.

(I couldn't help but notice that spending my meals in a state of worry and/or panic was becoming a distinct recurring pattern.)

Anna tried to reassure me. "She does this with all the new campers," she said. "Don't worry about it! It's nothing personal! It's her way of breaking you in, getting you used to the emotions of war."

"Yeah, sure, thanks," I muttered. She started to continue giving me completely unhelpful assurances, but caught the dark expression on my face, and thankfully shut up.

And so the time for my public humiliation arrived. I took as much time as possible to get to the arena, which was a mistake, as it gave the demigods time to gather in a crowd. This meant I had to walk into the arena with probably half the camp staring at me, which, you may be surprised to hear, was _not_ a confidence boost.

Clarisse was already there, at the centre of the arena. As if the odds weren't weighed heavily enough against me, she was fully kitted out with a helmet, shield, sword and a freaking _spear_ strapped to her back.

My own sword lay on the ground ten feet away from her. It looked like a matchstick when compared with Clarisse's armoury. I picked it up gingerly, wincing as my wrists screeched in pain.

Mutters rippled out through the watching teenagers as I squared up to Clarisse.

(Well, "squared up" is a very strong [and inaccurate] phrase. "Slowly and painfully straightened, and tried not to fall over" would be a better term.)

Clarisse fell easily into a fighting stance, and murmured one word: "Begin."

She came towards me even quicker than I'd expected. I jerked my sword up, and barely managed to block her first strike. I stumbled backwards, fighting against the aches in my joints, trying desperately to stay on my feet, never mind fight back.

The daughter of Ares approached, and suddenly her sword was a blur, coming towards me. I flung myself out of the way, tripped, and finally introduced my face to the ground. They had a brief and violent marriage, before being swiftly divorced as I staggered to my feet.

Clarisse regarded me through the slits of her helmet for a moment, giving me a second to take a breath. The next moment, all mercy was gone, and she lunged in.

This time her strike was true, and she disarmed me. My sword fell to the ground with a noisy clatter that was not quite able to cover up the snigger that could be heard from some parts of the watching crowd.

Clarisse took a half-step backwards, and I reached for my sword. I innocently thought she'd at least let me pick it up, but such kindness is not bestowed upon the cursed. A gloved hand swiped out, and cuffed me across the head. I tumbled to the ground again, my head spinning, as the ambient snigger grew louder.

I managed to look up from the ground in time to see the happy sight of Clarisse's sword moving with lightning-speed towards my upper arm. I watched, frozen with exhaustion, and braced myself for the approaching pain.

Time seemed to slow, and the bronze blade gradually came closer. I drew in a breath, and closed my eyes. This was gonna hurt.

I felt a soft breeze ripple my sleeve, and there was a great gasp, a gasp so loud it sounded like every single half-blood for a mile was inhaling in shock.

My eyes snapped open, and were drawn immediately towards my upper arm. Clarisse's sword was on the other side of it now, but only just, and I realised what had happened.

Her blade, a weapon of celestial bronze, the metal supposed to be as good as a knife of steel when it came to attacking half-bloods, hadn't cut me, or even sliced my clothes.

It had passed right through me, as if I were a ghost.

As if I were a mortal.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

_"Your path is your own, and I have no wish to sway you, but sometimes the greatest enemy we face is ourselves, and the greatest battle is against the darkness within."_

_–_Derek Landy, 'Skulduggery Pleasant'

* * *

I stood up slowly, aware that every single demigodly eye was fixed on me. It was so deathly quiet, I could have sworn that the watching teenagers had stopped breathing. In the row of half-bloods closest to me, I saw Jane. I hadn't spoken to her much in the last couple of days, as we were being trained separately, but I felt a kind of companionship with my fellow newbie, and her deeply worried expression showed that she felt the same way.

Clarisse was glaring at me, but she didn't look especially angry - just puzzled. She'd lowered her sword, but as I got to my feet, she swiped forward with the blade, going for my chest. I jerked back instinctively, but there was no need - the sword passed in one side of my body and out the other, like I wasn't even there.

The sight of this being demonstrated once more seemed to break the spell on the watching half-bloods. A lone voice, one that sounded suspiciously like Zack Walker's, called out, "He's not a demigod! He's nothing more than a common _mortal_!"

This set off the crowd, and almost every one of them started shouting at once. Everyone had something to say or a question to ask or a protest to make or a fist to shake, and I honestly began to worry for my life at that point. Some of those guys looked awfully annoyed, and many of them had very pointy-looking swords.

I reminded myself that their weapons apparently couldn't harm me, but this wasn't wholly reassuring.

Then a _very_ loud voice broke through the chaos, as Clarisse roared, "_SHUT UP._"

Almost all of the demigods fell silent instantly, and those who defiantly kept talking were swiftly silenced by Clarisse's dark and ominous glare.

"Now," she said slowly, still staring around. "I don't know what's going on here any more than you do, but it's not our problem, it's Chiron's."

"I'm here," the trainer of heroes called out. Apparently one of the more fleet-footed half-bloods had gone to fetch him right away, as he'd just reached the arena. He trotted towards me now, his face weighed down with a deep, deep weariness. He came right up to me, and glanced down thoughtfully. The centaur stood completely still for a moment, before looking me in the eye and saying, "Please, follow me."

For once, I didn't even consider making a sarcastic comment. I nudged my sword to one side, and followed the centaur out of the arena.

We walked to the Big House in silence. Chiron seemed… not angry, not with me, but he did seem so very tired. I reminded myself that I had done nothing wrong - indeed, I had repeatedly questioned the idea of my being a child of a god.

Despite that, for some strange reason, I couldn't help feeling vaguely guilty.

We reached the Big House, and Chiron led me into a small room near the back of the farmhouse. It had one custom-designed chair behind a modest desk, with a regular armchair on the opposite side. I realised, as Chiron folded himself into the custom chair, that this was the centaur's office. One would think the office of an ancient trainer of heroes would be something grand and impressive, but this looked much like any other office you'd see, though it was exceptionally tidy.

I sat down slowly, and met Chiron's eyes.

What I saw there made me realise what he'd been hiding from me all along.

"You knew," I breathed, sitting forward.

Chiron didn't reply at once. Instead, he slowly opened a drawer at the bottom of his desk, and heaved out a massive book. He thumped it down onto the desktop, and gazed at it for a moment.

It was _seriously_ big. It took up most of the desk, and had a heavy wooden binding, with metal finishing at the corners. To call it a book was to lessen its immensity - it probably had well over a thousand pages. It wasn't a book - it was a freaking _tome_.

Chiron opened it gently, and slowly turned over the pages. Each one was covered with close, neat handwriting. At first I thought it was some kind of crazy diary or organiser, but as Chiron leafed through it, I realised it was a catalogue of names - a long, long, _long_ list of names, carefully inscribed in a book which _probably_ wasn't something the centaur had picked up at the local stationery store.

"This is a list," Chiron said quietly. "It is a complete list of every single child of an Greek deity that has ever been born."

"_Every_ one?" I asked, my eyes wide with awe.

"Probably," he replied, giving me a wry smile. "Every one I've ever known or known of, certainly."

"But there's thousands," I said, leaning in.

"Hundreds of thousands," Chiron corrected me quickly. "Perhaps millions. I have never been able to conduct a full count."

"Why not?"

He gave me a sharp look, and I got the feeling that I'd asked a question he hadn't been expecting. I felt a swirl of cheer go through me. Asking unexpected questions was one of the few things I was actually good at.

"Because it's too painful," Chiron answered, after an uneasy pause. "Too many of them have died painful deaths. Too many of them have been forgotten by almost all. You know of a few heroes, a tiny number - Hercules, Perseus, da Vinci, and others. But they are only one fraction of one section of a massive family of half-blood heroes that stretches from the beginning of Western Civilisation to this day and beyond."

The centaur went completely still, halfway through turning over a page. He stared down at the book, his gaze distant, his eyes glassy.

"This is not a book," he murmured. "It isn't a catalogue of glory, or a collection of those whom civilisation consider to be heroes. It is a register, an accountant's ledger of the dead, the lost and the forgotten."

He let the page fall, and I saw that he'd come to a blank page, and there were only a few pages left in the ledger.

"Is it… nearly finished?" I asked, puzzled.

Chiron shook his head. "It is always like that. A few pages is enough for several years, and when I reach the end of the blank pages, more appear. Millennia ago, this was nothing more than a scroll, and over the centuries it has become what you see now." He paused, and waved at the ledger absently. "Athena gave it to me, and asked me to keep the records of the demigods for as long as I could. She instructed me to only tell those who needed to know about it."

I nodded, and, despite the seriousness of the moment, I couldn't help but be amused by the idea that this ancient record was basically the original classified document. Before the CIA was even imagined, there was Chiron and his ledger.

Then a far more important idea struck me. "Why show it to _me_, then?" I said, sitting back and giving Chiron a confused look.

"Because I want you to understand," the centaur replied, sitting back as well. He pointed at the blank page, and went on, "Tomorrow, I was going to write your name in the ledger. In all the years that Olympus has stood, very, very few mortals have been drawn so close to the gods, so far into the world of the Olympians, that they've been written into this ledger. The last one was…" he flicked back through the book, looking for the name.

"Abraham Lincoln?" I supplied, remembering the conversation I'd had with Annabeth earlier.

Chiron shook his head and frowned. He turned over many more pages, before finally saying, "No, it was…" he stared at a page, presumably having found the name. A cloud of deep pain passed over his face, and he shook his head again. "You wouldn't know her," the centaur said flatly, closing the ledger with a loud thud.

"The point is," Chiron said, "it is rare that mortals are involved in the affairs of the gods. It is rarer again that they are made to seem like demigods. Lincoln, as you mentioned, was the last one to be closely involved."

"Okay," I muttered, sensing where the trainer of heroes was going with all this, and _really_ not liking it. "So?"

"So consider, Cyrus," Chiron replied, an edge of steel creeping into his tone. "Here you are, the first mortal in hundreds of years to be brought into this camp, the first in many more to appear to be a half-blood, and the first such mortal with the gift of pure sight."

"What?" I said abruptly. I sat up, ramrod straight, and stared Chiron in the eye. "How do you know about that?"

"How I know about the extent of your sight is a long story, and not one for tonight," he replied carefully. "What matters, for now, is that you understand that you are not some regular mortal who has been drawn into this world by chance or by accident. You are important, somehow. The recent theft of the Flame of Olympus, and the revelation of who was behind the theft, serves only to emphasise that."

I sighed, and put my head in my hands. This was exactly what I had _not_ wanted to happen. Some people want to be special or famous or adored. Not me. Hell, the more people who are watching me, the more awkward and irritated I get. I was perfectly happy to be alone in a room with a book and a chessboard. Why did the world have to come to _me_? Why not go to someone who actually _wanted_ it?

I almost laughed as I realised how greatly I was contradicting myself. Was I the same person who, a few days before, had been longing for something exciting to happen? I felt like a deeply sarcastic presence was standing by my shoulder and muttering, "You asked for it, moron."

Well, I decided, I wasn't asking for it any more.

"How important?" I asked Chiron, looking up.

He shrugged. "It's very difficult to say," he said, and I could tell immediately that he was lying through his back teeth. You'd think a three-millennia-old centaur would be better at telling untruths, but he really wasn't. "The, ah, information on the matter is unclear. No-one, not even the gods, can predict the course and nature of the events that you'll be involved in, but one thing is clear - your fate is inextricably entwined with that of–"

"Let me guess," I muttered. "The gods? Western civilisation? The world?"

Chiron said nothing. He didn't need to - the sympathetic look in his eyes was enough.

"Why tell me all this?" I said, after a long pause.

"Because if I didn't, you would have walked out of camp already," Chiron replied simply.

He rose to his hooves, and stepped over to the door. I stood up, and turned around.

"How do you know I won't still do that?" I asked, brushing imaginary dust off my T-shirt.

Chiron met my gaze, smiled ruefully, and replied, "I don't."

I walked through the door, and just before he closed it, Chiron spoke again.

"There _is_ a war coming, Cyrus. You need to decide your role in it."

* * *

Pretty much all the campers had dispersed by the time I left the Big House. There was one loitering on the farmhouse porch, however - one who I was surprised to see.

Nico di Angelo was slumped on the porch bench, his arms crossed over his chest, his head nodded down onto them. I stood for a moment, staring at him, and what with his posture, distinct skinniness, and clothing so dark and thin it looked like a shroud in the dim light, I couldn't help but think that he looked like a barely warm corpse.

Then he raised his head and glared at me.

I started backwards in alarm, but his angry expression subsided when he recognised me. "Hey," he said, his tone not exactly friendly, but not hostile, either.

"Hi," I said, keeping my tone neutral. I stepped towards him, and noticed that his face was marred with the signs of utter exhaustion, and also something else, some emotion I couldn't name. His aura was worn out, and had no liveliness - it draped over his shoulders and blended in with his clothes. I barely even noticed it.

Nico sure wasn't one for starting conversation - we hung around in the depressing wasteland of awkward silence for several minutes, until I finally decided to put us on the train to the storm-racked land of awkward conversation.

"Um, how did the quest go?" I asked.

Nico's shoulders tensed, his expression darkening, making him look ready to tear up a few fissures. Thankfully, he simply took a deep breath, and replied, "Okay, I guess. I got the Flame back, but, uh…"

I eyed him, and it was pretty clear that the quest hadn't gone entirely according to plan. I realised what that hard-to-place emotion was - disappointment. The son of Hades had been sorely disappointed over the last few days, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why.

"So how are you doing?" Nico said, moving on. He jerked his head towards the house. "Chiron giving you a hard time?"

I shook my head. "It's not that, exactly, it's just… you know how it is. Being asked to be what you aren't. Being told things you don't want to hear. Being asked questions you don't want to answer."

"Yeah, I know," he said softly, looking me in the eye. "I know exactly what you mean."

Normally I don't believe people when they said things like that, but when I saw the pain and the anger in Nico's eyes, I knew he was telling the truth.

He stood up, and moved over to the railing. He leant against it, exhaling slowly. We stayed like that for a while, comfortable with the silence, but aware of the unspoken truths.

"Whatever you do," Nico said abruptly, "always remember that you always have one person to answer to, one person who'll never forgive you if you make the wrong choice."

"Who?"

He gave me a sidelong glance, and said quietly, "Yourself."

Then he vanished, dissolving into the shadows like an alka-seltzer tablet into water.

"Well, that's helpful," I muttered. "Thanks a lot, Cryptic Shadow Olive."

Night had almost fallen. Nearly all the campers had retired to their cabins, lest the harpies be brought down upon them. Not wanting to be devoured by demonic bird-women, I trudged towards the Hermes cabin. When I arrived, nearly everyone was asleep. I crept into bed, and did everything _except_ fall asleep.

For the next three hours I tossed and turned, considering my conversation with Chiron. He'd sounded pretty certain that I was going to be dragged into some big game the gods were on the edge of, and I'd be probably be forced to actually take part in the conflict. He'd even said that a war was coming - not really a reassuring thing to hear.

And over the hours, I came to one very definite conclusion - I didn't want to have anything to do with the gods and their politics. I didn't know them, they didn't know me, and until last week I'd had nothing at all to do with them. Why should I hang around and wait to be dragged into something that had nothing to do with me, just because Chiron had told me I was important?

No. Just. No.

Clearly Chiron had been trying to appeal to my better nature, to make me feel morally obliged to involve myself, but it hadn't worked. I just didn't care. Let someone else fight the wars of the gods, I decided. If I walked away, it wouldn't affect me.

So that's what I did.

The sun had barely risen when I left Camp Half-Blood. I gathered my few possessions, checked that no-one was around to see me, made my way out of camp, went over the hill, and was away before even the birds had begun to wake up.

I didn't look back.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

_It's a strange arrangement._

_I don't claim to understand it._

_I know I created it._

_But I never planned it._

_–_The Waterboys, 'Strange Arrangement'

* * *

_Two Days Later_

I lay in bed, with the curtains open, the night sky visible beyond. The stars were out there, I knew, but I couldn't see them - no doubt because of the light pollution. Bob always complained about that. The moon was a dull crescent, and it appeared and disappeared every few minutes as wispy grey clouds passed over it. The ambient noise of New York drifted on the air like sonic dust motes, but the apartment was silent and still. It would be - it was nearly two in the morning.

I'd arrived home two days before. I'd walked all the way to the outskirts of the city, and used my few dollars that thankfully hadn't been robbed to get home. My parents had been surprised to see me, but they hadn't asked me any questions about camp.

Nor had they told me anything, or explained their strange lack of worry.

I'd arrived in around lunchtime, gone upstairs, and found my mom and dad in the kitchen. My granddad was there, too, on one of his many trips to America from his native land. I'd stood there, hoping for answers, but but my parents didn't say anything, and carried on as though I'd simply been on a brief trip to the house of my one friend. I could see in their eyes that they knew what to tell me, how to explain why they weren't surprised that I'd been brought to camp and why they weren't surprised I'd come back, but they said nothing, and I'd gone along with the charade. In a way, I was happy for it - the whole experience was so weird, I just wanted to move on and forget about it. On another level, though, I knew it hadn't gone away.

And that's how things went for the next two days. The unasked questions and the unoffered answers lay right under the surface, colouring every word spoken, every glance exchanged. As I lay there in bed, I began to wonder if I'd _ever_ find out the truth.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when my bedroom door opened.

I sat up quickly, and watched in astonishment as my dad slowly padded into the room, garbed in his threadbare dressing gown and bedraggled slippers. He started slightly when he saw I was awake, but said nothing. He dragged the chair over next to my bed, and sat down in it.

Dad sat there, staring out the window for a few minutes. I could tell he was putting the words together to say whatever he'd come to say, so I stayed quiet, and let him gather himself.

"Cyrus…" Dad began carefully. "Your mother and I… can't tell you very much."

I blinked. Okay. That sure wasn't what I'd been expecting.

"We are bound to keep a great deal from you until the time is right, or until you discover it for yourself," he went on.

"What do you mean, _bound_?" I said, not very nicely. "Is someone holding a gun to your head?"

"Did they tell you about the Stygian Oath when you were at camp?" Dad replied, seemingly unfazed by my anger.

"No…"

"It's an ancient oath, and one that is extremely dangerous to break," he explained. "I'm not going to be all mysterious with you - if I had my way, I'd have told you everything years ago, but I swore this oath, as did your mother, to keep secret those things that," he hesitated, before hurriedly saying, "those things that were revealed to us."

"So can you tell me _anything_?"

He heaved a heavy sigh. "I can tell you that, before you were born, your mother and I were visited by someone who told us how you had a fate that would be rather more colourful than most. I can tell you that this person revealed to us the existence of the gods, and that's why you didn't end up in a loony bin by age eight."

I coughed.

"Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating," Dad conceded. "But anyway. There you go."

I stared at him. "That's _it_?"

"Yup, pretty much," he said cheerfully.

"Could you not have told me that, you know, _when I came home_?"

"Hey, now, Cyrus," Dad said, frowning. "It took us days just to decide whether or not it was safe to tell you that."

"Yeah, because what you've told me is _so_ helpful," I muttered darkly.

We sat in silence for a few minutes more, both of us gazing pensively at the moonlight. Though, on reflection, I was probably glaring at the moonlight like it had formed into fire and torched all my possessions before burning off my hair, whereas my dad was gazing at it with a vague when-can-I-go-back-to-bed expression.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I remembered one other thing we can tell you."

(Trust my dad to spend days deciding whether or not to tell me something, and then _forget_ what that thing actually was.)

"Oh?" I said.

"Yeah, I, uh…" he frowned again. "What was it again…"

I buried my head in my hands, and groaned. "Oh my _God_, Dad."

"That's it, I remember now!" Dad said cheerily. "The Visitor–"

(My dad is one of the few people on the planet who can capitalise the initial letter of words during _verbal conversation._)

"–told us that the incident in the park would take place."

I froze.

"They told us about the general nature of it," he went on, tactfully not paying any heed to my discomfiture. "They also told us how it would have a purpose, in the long run."

I closed my eyes and rubbed my brow, as an extremely unpleasant memory rode its way into my mind upon a wave of equally unpleasant emotions.

* * *

I was eight years old, and on a birthday picnic with my parents. It was the middle of spring, the sky was bright and blue, and Central Park was almost overwhelming busy. Despite the odds, my parents had somehow found a free bench, and there we were, enjoying birthday lunch.

Everything was going pretty normally, and I hadn't seen anything scary. Back then, from around five years old, I'd kept seeing all sorts of creepy stuff, and I'd react to everything I saw, but it had never been too intense.

But on that day, on my birthday, it all changed.

At some point, I was left on my own at the table for a few minutes - I don't remember how. Perhaps my parents had gone to the nearby kiosk, or perhaps they'd seen someone they knew. Either way, for several minutes I sat at the bench on my own, watching the comings and goings around me.

That was when it happened.

The picnic bench was at the edge of a wooded area, and a little removed from the main paths of the park. In front of me stretched the large expanse of dense trees and bushes, and to my young eyes, it looked like a veritable forest.

A rustle among the trees drew my attention to them, and the choppy, uneven sounds of scuffling made me squint into the wood.

As I watched, a figure clad in a torn t-shirt and blood-spattered jeans stumbled out from among the trees, ten or fifteen feet away from me. I stared as the person - a teenage girl with a sturdy build and striking features - turned around and around on the spot. Her expression was almost painful to look at: so full of pure terror and anguish, it showed that she was someone in fear of her life.

I stayed completely still, not daring to even breathe. It was clear to me then, even as an eight-year-old, that this girl was running from something truly fearsome, and I didn't want to draw its attention onto me.

I blinked, and that fearsome creature broke through the trees.

It was truly hideous, the stuff of nightmares. Eight-headed, purple, scaly, as tall as the trees. It snaked across the ground like some sort of monstrous super-snake, and its eight pairs of evil eyes glared out like carnivorous jewels.

I froze, and so did the girl. A scream of alarm died on her lips as she stood facing the beast. She slumped to the ground, clearly exhausted, unable to run any further. I wondered why she didn't cry out for help, and I looked over at the normal people bustling around the park. Surely some of them had noticed the monstrosity that had just emerged from the woods?

But no. No one but me had noticed the serpent monster. All the regular people bustled on, like tiny insects, oblivious to the horror taking place only yards away.

Slowly and sinuously, the purple snake monster creeped towards its prey. Venom dripped from its teeth, and small but sharp claws grasped at the air. The girl closed her eyes, and waited.

I watched with horror, unable to move, unable to help. Surely someone would come to her rescue? Perhaps she'd been separated from her friends, and they'd come and distract the monster. Something like this couldn't just _happen_. Someone would come.

All these possibilities and many others besides raced through my head, but no one came, no saviour appeared. The world went on, people walked by, and no-one saw the girl about to be eaten by a creature from the darkest part of a child's nightmare.

No-one saw, but me.

I won't draw out the details, because even recounting the experience is horrible for me. Suffice to say that on that day, the teenage girl made a large lunch for that beast. To put it in blunt terms, I watched as she was consumed by a thing that I only later learned was a hydra, a monster from Greek legend.

Now I know that she was a demigod, probably a daughter of Aphrodite, judging by her striking appearance. I know that she was being chased by a monster, the way monsters have always chased and will always chase the children of gods, and I know that she probably didn't even know she was a half-blood, seeing as how she seemed to have no weapons and no idea what was happening.

But I knew none of that when I was eight. All I knew was that I was watching a nightmare unfold before my very eyes.

By the time my parents returned, it was all over. The whole thing had took only three or four minutes. I was still frozen with fear, my mind running like a overworked computer, trying to process what I'd just seen.

Years later, it always amazes and horrifies me how an event that would scar me for the rest of my life could happen so quickly, so quietly, so easily.

After that day, I began to block out those things that were beyond the average. The sight of that girl standing helpless as doom overtook her inspired in me a fear of powerlessness, and that fear drove me to all manner of things - research into mythology and the existence of paranormal and hostile forces, the development of mental blocks on my sight, and even judo classes. I decided that I would never, ever let myself fall into a similarly powerless position.

As you can imagine, that day greatly affected me in ways both positive and negative.

And now my dad was telling me that he'd _known_ it would happen.

* * *

I opened my eyes, and met my father's steady gaze.

"You _knew_ I would see that?" I said wearily.

He nodded.

"You knew I would see someone _eaten_ by a monster?" I spat. "You knew that, but you didn't stop it? You didn't make sure I wasn't there to experience it?"

Dad rubbed his forehead, frowning. "We didn't know the exact day or time. All she told us–"

"She?" I interrupted. "So this visitor was some magical female being. Was she a goddess? A spirit? A ghost?"

My dad's face went very still, as though he were trying to hold something in. He frowned deeply, and shook his head, but not at me. It was clear that he was having an internal struggle, and the logical side was winning out over the emotional side.

"I can't tell you that," he finally said. "I can't tell you anything beyond what I told you. I shouldn't have even let slip that the Visitor was a she."

Dad fell silent, and stared intently at the floor. I watched him, and I believed him. I could tell he wanted to tell me more, but simply could not.

"Okay," I said, trying hard to keep my tone even. "Well, go on."

"She told us that you would see someone being attacked and, er, eaten, by an ancient monster," Dad said. "She also told us that no matter what we did to stop this from happening, it would happen, and there was no point in even trying to change it. All we could do was help you get over it."

I thought back to that day, remembering how my parents hadn't seemed particularly surprised by my story. Horrified, yes, but not surprised. At the time I'd been so shaken I hadn't paid any notice to that, but now it was clear as day.

"Finally, she told us that this event not only _would_ happen, it _had_ to happen," he went on. "It was integral that you had that experience, because it would guide you onto the right path."

And here it was again. My life, being shaped and directed by some complex and dramatic fate, some destiny that I didn't want. Why couldn't this world of myth and magic just go _away_?

My dad caught my infuriated expression, and stood up to go. He padded slowly over to the door, then paused.

"Cyrus…" Dad said hesitantly. "I don't know what it is you're being drawn into, or why it's _you_ of all people being drawn in. But I do know that whatever happens, no matter what it is you're going to face, you will make the right choices."

"Thanks, Dad," I said quietly, as I laid down.

He nodded, and said, "And I'm sorry I couldn't tell you anything more."

Then Dad padded on out of the room, leaving me to my troubled thoughts.

I felt sure I wouldn't sleep a wink, but presumably I was exhausted, because within a few minutes I was asleep.

* * *

Life went on.

A few weeks rolled past. I helped my dad in the shop, like I always did in the summer, and I worked with my mom on her next book. I met my friend once or twice, but he was a hell of a lot more popular than me, and so a lot busier.

Things slowly quietened down, and I didn't mention the world of the gods to my parents again. They had said what they could, and didn't say anything else about it, either.

Indeed, I began to think that that was it. I started to feel hopeful that the gods had forgotten me, that I was free to go on with my life without being pulled into their mythological insanity.

That's what I _thought_.

Then, one dull morning in late June, the universe reconvened its Cyrus Contradiction Conference.

I was in my bedroom, working out a chess puzzle. On my last birthday, my parents had gotten me several cool presents, but my favourite was a massive book of chess puzzles. I hadn't gotten to go through many of them during school term, but now that I had oodles of free time, I was spending hours on them.

My mother knocked once on my bedroom door before putting her head in. "Cyrus," she said, her tone surprised. "You have a, um, a visitor."

"A visitor?" I exclaimed, looking up at her in surprise. I hadn't had a visitor for…

Well. Let's not delve into such silly details as lengths of time.

"Yeah," Mom said, her expression reflecting my surprise. She stood back, and pushed the door open.

And Nico di Angelo walked into my bedroom.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

_"Soon, we must all face the choice between what is right and what is easy."_

–Albus Dumbledore, 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (The Movie)'

* * *

"What are you doing here?" I said angrily. I shot out of my chair, and stood glowering at the intruding son of Hades.

My mom slipped away, closing the door behind her. Nico stepped further into the room, not meeting my eyes. He shuffled over to my bed, and sat down on the very edge of it. Only then did he meet my angry gaze, and only then did I realise how obvious the answer to my question was.

"Chiron sent you," I muttered.

Nico nodded glumly.

I sat back down, and stopped glaring at Nico like I was about to beat him up with my chessboard. I couldn't really blame him - if Chiron had ordered him to visit me, he probably wouldn't have had much choice.

And the fact that Chiron had ordered Nico here showed that he wasn't going to let me walk away as easily as I'd hoped. The world of the gods wasn't going to just go away.

"Look, I know you don't want me here—" Nico began.

"Just stop," I interrupted, my anger bubbling up again. "Just _stop_, alright? I don't want to know, I don't want to freaking _hear_ it."

Nico complied, and stayed silent, watching me pensively.

I rubbed my temples, and sighed, almost groaning. I'd _left_ the camp. Chiron had posed me with the question, straight-out, and I'd answered him. I thought it was pretty clear that my answer was _no_.

But apparently the centaur, or maybe the gods, didn't care about that.

I thought about it for a moment. I could see that if I dismissed Nico now, he'd be back tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after, incessantly badgering me until I listened to whatever script Chiron had supplied him. My only hope for a little peace was to hear him out now, make it clear I wasn't going to change my mind, and hopefully would that be the end of it.

_Hopefully_ being the operative word.

"Go ahead," I said, waving my hand at Nico.

"What?" he replied, frowning.

"I said, go ahead," I growled. I picked up my chess book again and started to stare at various pages. "Let's hear the sales pitch."

The son of Hades sighed, and I could tell it was a sigh of relief - even _he_ didn't want to have to continually badger me. "Okay," he muttered. "Where do I start…"

"The beginning," I said helpfully. "Well, the end would be better, but then you won't be able to tell me the middle, and Chiron probably wouldn't be happy with that arrangement, so the beginning is a good choice."

"Cyrus, I swear to Hades, you're as bad as me," Nico said, rubbing his temples. "Okay. Chiron basically commanded me to come here, and he said if you wouldn't listen—"

"You'll have to keep coming back day after day, yes, I worked that out myself," I said, waving my hand again. "Skip along."

"He wants you to return to camp," Nico said quickly. "He wants you to come back, and train as best you can, even though you're a…"

"A mortal," I supplied, still staring at my chess book.

"Yeah."

"And what do you think of that?" I asked quietly, slowly leafing through pages.

"What do _I_ think of it?" Nico echoed. "What the hell does that have to do with it? I'm just the messenger."

"I asked you for your opinion," I said, finally looking up. "That means I want to hear it."

He stared at me for a moment, then laughed.

"What?" I said, scowling.

"You know who you remind me of?" Nico asked, still chuckling slightly.

I shook my head.

"Jake Wilson," he said, his tanned face crinkled with amusement.

"_What?_" I cried, scowling even more deeply this time.

"It's the whole imperious, I'm-smarter-than-you thing," Nico explained, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It's annoying, but kind of funny."

"You're comparing me to a liar and a thief?" I said flatly.

"Oh, no," Nico replied. "I'm not _comparing_ you to him. But there are a few similar qualities there."

"You're such a great diplomat," I shot back.

He shrugged. "I never said I was here to be diplomatic," he said. "I'm here to tell you that you've made a mistake."

"According to Chiron."

"Yeah," Nico nodded. "He said…what was it? That 'the theft of the Flame of Olympus and the awakening of Mother Rhea signals the beginning of a new phase in the gods' stay in this land.'"

"Wait. Mother Rhea? The mother of the _gods_?" I spluttered.

"Yeah, her," Nico said quietly. "That's who Jake Wilson was working with."

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I could just about handle the Olympian gods knocking around the modern world, but _Titans_? And the way Nico had said it, with such a casual tone, showed that this wasn't a first.

That reminded me of the wars people had kept mentioning, back at camp.

"When I was at camp," I said, "a few demigods mentioned something about wars? How there'd been big wars years ago?"

Nico's face darkened considerably, and I sensed that I'd hit upon a very sensitive topic. His forehead creased and his shoulders hunched as a cloud of unpleasant emotions settled over him. I'm not being figurative - I could actually _see_ his aura darkening and twisting.

"There have been two major wars in the half-blood world over the last six years or so," Nico said, his voice very quiet and serious.

"_Two?_"

"Yeah," he muttered. "One was when the Titan Kronos rose from Tartarus, and tried to destroy the Olympians. He used the body of Luke Castellan, but Percy Jackson managed to defeat him."

"Wait a second," I said, holding up my hands. "Did you just say _Percy Jackson?_ The _canoeing instructor?_"

He nodded.

I shook my head in disbelief. I'd seen and heard a lot of crazy things over the last few days, but somehow I couldn't picture goofy, cheery, helpful Percy defeating the mighty evil Titan. It was like someone saying that Daffy Duck took down King Kong.

"He was helped by a lot of demigods," Nico added. "Me. Annabeth Chase…"

(Well, no surprises there.)

"Then, barely a year after that, we had a second war, even more difficult than the one with the Titans," Nico continued. "This time, Gaia herself waged war against the gods."

"Gaia…" I said slowly. "You mean the earth goddess?"

"Yup," Nico answered. "You can imagine the difficulties involved with fighting a deity who has power over you whenever you're standing on the ground. And who has an army of evil and nigh-invulnerable demonic evil giants."

"Ah," I said, very quietly indeed.

"We managed to win that war," he went on. "But the gods themselves had to partner with their demigod children for the giants to be destroyed. Not even Percy Jackson had the power to single-handedly destroy a giant."

I managed to avoid saying that Percy Jackson didn't seem like someone who would have the power or inclination to destroy a fly, never mind an evil giant.

"Still, they must have been pretty quiet wars," I said hopefully. "I mean, if they'd been really serious, us mortal folk would've noticed them, right? Even the Mist can only cover so much, right?"

Nico scowled deeply, and it was obvious that I'd just said a very stupid thing.

"The Greek gods have kept their existence secret from most of the mortals for more than two thousand years," he snapped. "Mount Olympus itself hangs above the Empire State Building. Do you _really_ think it would be much of a task for a war to be equally well-hidden?"

"Um…"

"I think you're slightly underestimating the Mist," Nico continued, his tone still sharp. He stood up and started pacing about my room. "It's one of the most powerful mythological forces, if not _the_ most powerful. Typhon himself could rage across America, and you mortals would think that it was nothing more than a freak storm. In fact, that's exactly what happened, in the final stages of the Titan War."

He paused, now standing by the window. "And if the gods have to go to war again, do you think you'll know?" he muttered, his tone ominous. "Do you think you'll know what's happening when the world is falling down around your ears?"

"Maybe," I replied. "My clear sight seems to be pretty strong."

"Then maybe, before everything ends, before the darkness overtakes us all," Nico said angrily, rounding on me, "maybe you'll have a moment when you realise that you could have stopped it, that you could have been the one to end the carnage."

He fell silent, and stood there, glaring down at me.

"Nico…" I said quietly. "You don't know that. I don't. Maybe the gods do, but…"

The son of Hades turned away, and instead aimed his glare out the window. I took the opportunity that this moment of respite provided, and calmed myself. I breathed deeply, trying to clear my head. Nico sure was scary when he got mad. Chiron had sent the perfect guy for the job.

"I'm sorry, Cyrus," Nico said, his tone leveling out. "I lost my sister in the first war. I was kidnapped and tortured by Gaia in the second. It's a sensitive issue."

I bowed my head. There wasn't an awful lot you could say to that.

Nico stood there for a few more minutes, and I could see his aura slowly calming down, which was a relief to me. I didn't know what kind of powers a son of Hades had, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to anger him enough to find out.

I thought about what Nico had said. Taken on its own, it was pretty convincing. If some kind of terrible apocalypse really did come down onto the earth, and it turned out that I could've stopped it, would I be able to live with myself? Admittedly I probably wouldn't _need_ to live with myself, because the world would've ended and I'd be dead, but still. I didn't think I was a bad person, or at least I wasn't immoral. If it really did come down to me to help save the world, was it my moral responsibility to do what I could?

(And Nico comparing me to Wilson was hanging on my mind. I sure didn't think I was anything like the shadowy weirdo, but then I _wouldn't_, would I? Evil people don't think they're evil…)

But on the other hand, how did I know if I could believe the gods, believe Chiron? Nico had been real convincing, sure, but that's why Chiron had sent him - he was the perfect recruiter, someone who had been deeply wounded by the enemy and would not flinch from joining the fight. The kind of person who would make me feel guilty about not helping, and what better way to get someone to sign up for something than to use the greatest tricks in the box - emotional blackmailing and guilt-tripping?

I glanced down at my chess book, which had wound up on the floor at some point, then I glared at the chessboard. I sighed, and started putting the pieces back to their starting positions. As I placed each one on its square, I felt like I was laying out another aspect to my dilemma.

The pawns. Were the gods using me as an inconsequential pawn, just another piece of material to be used, manipulated, and, perhaps, sacrificed?

The rooks. Nico didn't _seem_ to be someone easily swayed by sentiment or fervour, but who knew how his experiences in war had distorted his judgement?

The knights. My parents had been told by a mysterious visitor that I would play a crucial role. I was sure they weren't lying, but why should I let someone else's vague predictions affect my choices?

The bishops. Chiron had made it sound like I was going to be the primary figure in a great battle, but how could he know that? Was that merely what the gods had told him, or did he know for certain?

The queens. I'd thought I was free of this, and then it crept into my life again. If I turned away from it again, would it just keep coming back, over and over again, until I was worn down into a more receptive attitude?

As I replaced the two kings, Nico moved away from the window, and crouched down right next to me. He surveyed the chessboard with solemn eyes.

"You play a lot of chess?" he asked me, picking up the black king and inspecting it.

"Yeah," I said. "I don't have a lot of people to play with, but I still like it a lot."

Nico nodded, still examining the piece. After a minute or more, he replaced it, and said, "You know, I only learned how to play last year. Before, I'd known nothing about it, then Annabeth Chase taught me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You know the thing that I saw right away?"

I shook my head.

Nico met my eyes. "That life is really just a big, _big_ game of chess. And, whether we like it or not, all of us have to play it."

He picked up two pieces from the board, and held them up.

"We all face the same choice," Nico went on. "We have to choose whether to be a knight," he waved the knight in his right hand, "or a pawn." He waved the pawn in his left.

Then, Nico dropped the pieces back onto the board. They fell over with tiny clatters.

"Those are the choices you have, Cyrus," Nico said, rising to his feet. "I hope you'll pick the right one."

He turned, and stepped into a shadowy corner behind my half-open door. I blinked, and the son of Hades was gone.

"Well, it seems Wilson isn't the only demigod with a talent for drama," I muttered.

I sat there for a while, staring at the rays of sunshine splaying themselves across the wall like wispy hands pressing against glass. Nico had managed to do what I'd been dreading, the one thing that could change my mind. He'd posed the question in terms of right and wrong, and made it clear which choice he thought was the moral one.

Stupid manipulative sons of gods.

I jumped as my door opened, and my mom padded in.

"Who was that, Cyrus?" she asked carefully.

"Oh, just someone from camp," I said, in an unconvincingly nonchalant tone. I stood up, and hurriedly put on my coat. "I, uh. I'm just going out for a walk."

Mom nodded, but her expression made it clear that she knew I was dodging the question, and that sooner or later I'd have to tell the whole story.

I couldn't face recounting the whole thing right then, however. My parents were good, moral people, and if they knew the choice I had to make, I'd find myself being rather _firmly_ nudged down the path of sure Mr. Olympian how can I help you I'll do whatever is needed.

I bolted down the stairs before I could be asked any more questions, and I was on the street in moments. I took off down the road, vaguely thinking that I might visit the library.

As I turned the corner onto the main road, a pair of arms grabbed me from behind. I instinctively kicked out, but my attacker was strong, and held me with a grip of iron. Someone appeared in the corner of my vision, and I could see that he was holding a sponge dripping a viscous liquid which didn't look like a nice health elixir.

The dark-clad figure kept out of my eye-line as he pressed the sponge against my mouth and nose. Immediately, I started feeling drowsy, and my vision began to go black at the edges.

The last thing I saw before I passed out was Jake Wilson looking down at me, wearing an infuriatingly smug expression and mouthing, "Hello again, Cyrus."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

_"Some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn."_

–Alfred Pennyworth, 'The Dark Knight'

* * *

I woke with a start.

I looked around with alarm, and immediately tried to stand up, but I was tied to a chair. I yanked at the ropes, but they were tough, and I was still weak from whatever I'd been drugged with. After a few moments of struggling, I gave up, and squinted around.

I found myself in a almost pitch-dark room, with only a tiny shred of light slipping in under the doorframe. I got the feeling that the room was small, and I had a hunch that I was underground, though I had no idea if this was mere imagination or not. It was cold, and the chair was hard. I didn't feel any great pain, so presumably I hadn't been manhandled while I was out.

Recollection of how I'd ended up here faded into my mind. I spasmed in desperation, fighting to break free, as I remembered that Wilson had kidnapped me, but still the ropes held.

Panic turned to despair as I tried to think through my options. There weren't any. No-one knew where I was, I hadn't given any specific destination when I'd left home, and for all I knew, Jake had taken me to some shadowy lair in the depths of Manhattan. If his shadow-travel powers were strong, I might not even _be_ in New York.

A familiar sense of powerlessness crept through me, and I knew that I was trapped. If Wilson was crazy enough to kidnap me in broad daylight, who knew what he might do next?

As if it was timed, the door glided open silently - so quietly, I wouldn't have even noticed it, were it not for the glare of sunlight that beamed into my face as the door swung open.

A figure stepped inside, and closed the door. He or she stood in silent darkness for a moment, and a jolt of pure terror ran through me. There was no clever talk that would help me, no sight, no books, nothing. If Wilson wanted me dead, it could have been done already.

I frowned. Well, I _wasn't_ dead, so that meant Wilson didn't have murderous intent - at least, not yet. Perhaps the situation wasn't as desperate as I'd originally thought.

I heard a rustle, a click, and then a lightbulb crackled into life.

(Right over my head, I might add. Talk about cliched. I felt like I was in a bad crime film.)

I wasn't surprised to see the Dark One himself standing in front of me, looking as nuts as ever. His aura was hard to see in the dim light, and for that I was glad - it made it easier to ignore.

I glanced around. The room was even smaller than I'd thought - a tall man would've had trouble lying down comfortably. The walls and ceiling were painted black, and if there were any windows, they'd been boarded up and painted over. The floor was covered with a raggy black carpet, and the door had enough bolts to keep out an army.

Wilson was standing stock-still, watching me. I didn't want him to get the upper hand (I think it says something about my character that I was tied to a chair in a stone box of a room and I was worried about not _giving away_ the upper hand), so I started talking first.

"What do you want?" I said, doing what I could to sound as in-control as possible, despite the fact that I was tied to a chair and struggling with the after-effects of being knocked out.

Wilson sighed like I was a troublesome child being admonished for stealing cookies. "Who says I _want_ anything, Cyrus? How do you know I'm not here to kill you?"

I groaned loudly.

"Okay, fine, you worked out that part," he went on, putting his hands in his trousers pockets. "Do you recall our conversation at camp?"

A glare was my succinct answer.

"Good," the Dark One smiled. "Then you'll remember that I said you'd get another chance."

"I also remember that you're a _traitor_ who stole the Flame of Olympus and tried to bring back a Titan," I spat. I felt rather pleased with myself - he couldn't manipulate his way around _that_.

To my surprise, Wilson's face rumpled with (what looked like) hurt.

"Is that what they told you?" he said mournfully.

I said nothing, and continued to glare at him.

"Poor Rhea was imprisoned for _eons_, Cyrus," Wilson said, his tone suspiciously reasonable. "The gods shunned her, left her to rot in a prison forged by the evil Titan Kronos. Rhea was a _servant_ of the gods."

I frowned. From what I remembered from myth, Rhea _had_ been the one to help Zeus overthrow his tyrannical (and cannibalistic) father…

"I told you before that it's hard to know who to believe," the Dark One continued. "The gods present a convincing story, but you must always remember that the winners write the history books. What authority says that Rhea was a terrible immortal who ought to lie in a terrible prison for all time?"

"Chiron said—" I began.

"Chiron is the greatest servant of the gods of them all," Wilson said testily. "Do you really think you can rely on him for a trustworthy, objective account?"

Wilson sighed again, and walked around to the back of the chair. I heard him crouch down, and felt my ropes begin to loosen as he untied me.

Emotion told me this was a good thing.

Reason told me quite the opposite.

Wilson went still, and I stiffened. I could sense that he was kneeling right behind me, and if he wanted to bump me off, this was the moment to do it.

"After all, did he even tell you about the prophecy?" he whispered.

I heard a disturbance in the air - the swooshing sound made when something passes through the air rapidly - and I looked around quickly.

Wilson was gone. He'd vanished into the shadows, like Nico had done back at my apartment.

Honestly. Couldn't these guys just use the door?

I tugged at the ropes, and they fell away. To my surprise, Wilson had untied all of them, and I was able to shrug them off easily. Then I stood up.

Or rather I _tried_ to stand up.

The room started to spin before I'd even straightened up, and I wobbled ominously. Ever the stubborn one, though, I stayed standing for a moment, before giving in and collapsing back into the chair.

Clearly, being drugged didn't agree with me.

I avoided thinking about my predicament for the next few minutes. Instead, I focussed on clearing my head, and working out as much wooziness as possible. I took deep, calming breaths, closed my eyes, counted to ten, stretched my arms and legs, and did whatever other therapeutic tics I could think of. Finally, after what felt like ten minutes or more, I stood up again, and managed to not fall over, which I felt was a great personal achievement.

I took a step forward, and somehow ended up in the chair again.

"These things take time," I muttered philosophically, and rubbed my eyes vigorously, trying to break up the tension that was gathering there. I could feel the beginnings of a headache starting to build, and this was a _really_ bad time for one.

Eventually, after half an hour or more, I was able to walk around the room without feeling like I was about to crumble into a pile of dust. The room itself was kind enough to stop spinning around, and I finally regained enough composure to think.

It was certain at this stage that Wilson wasn't going to kill me. Judging by his unconvincing spiel, he still wanted to make me join the Dark Side. Presumably, I'd been left to "think over my options", "consider my position", and become "more receptive" to his way of thinking. The Dark One probably thought I was an average kid who'd be easily broken.

He'd mentioned something about a prophecy. This was new. It didn't take a genius to see what Wilson's plan was. He would play on the fact that I didn't know about this prophecy, make it into something mysterious, and then feed me a little piece of it to gain my trust.

(Before you say, "Wow you're really clever, Cyrus," I'll emphasise that I'm really not. I'm just fairly good at noticing patterns, and the "trick-the-uninformed-kid" pattern sure isn't hard to spot.)

I didn't know why I was so deeply opposed to everything the Dark One had to say to me. It wasn't even because of his theft of the Flame - I couldn't give two whits about that. I just had this instinctual dislike of the guy. If he said black, I was going to say white. I didn't know _why_, I simply knew that's how it _was_.

That's how I knew that no matter what tricks he pulled, I wasn't going to give in. I hadn't signed up to the demigods and their cause, but I wasn't signing up to this one, either.

So, when Wilson reappeared in a corner of the cell like a shadow pretending to be a human, I was ready.

"You didn't try to escape!" he said, his tone full of surprise which might have been real but was probably not.

I stopped trying to pace around the tiny cell, and sat down. Then I went back to my previous approach, and glared at him.

"What are you talking about?" I muttered, still trying to gain some kind of moral or intellectual high ground.

(Hey, I wasn't tied to a chair anymore! That's progress!)

The Dark One stepped over to the door and turned the handle. The door opened.

"I didn't lock the door, Cyrus," Wilson said softly.

My mouth opened slightly as I tried to take that in. It'd been about two hours since Wilson had left, and all that the time, I could've just walked out the door?

I cursed myself. How had I not even tried that?

I didn't have to think long to find the answer: I'd been over-thinking things, and so I'd overlooked something as simple as checking the door handle.

More proof that I'm not cut out for the hero business, I guess.

"Why didn't you lock it?" I said, transferring my anger onto Wilson. It wasn't his fault I'd made such a stupid mistake, but then he _had_ kidnapped me, so I felt pretty justified putting all my ills onto him.

"Why would I lock it?" the Dark One replied smoothly, closing the door and leaning against it. "I'm not your enemy, Cyrus. You _think_ I'm your enemy, but I'm not."

"I suppose you're my greatest friend, then," I muttered. "After all, friends often drug and kidnap each other, right?"

"I'm not saying that," Wilson replied, shaking his head. "Obviously I'm not your friend, but that doesn't mean I want to hurt you. What I want is for you to see things clearly. If you don't _want_ to see things clearly, fine, but I think you do. I think you sense you're not being told the whole truth, and you want the whole truth. You deserve it."

He looked in my eyes, and I gazed back. My resolve was starting to feel a little shaky - maybe he _was_ right. I didn't really know a lot about the world of the gods. I hadn't been told anything that I couldn't doubt. Maybe my instinctive dislike of Jake was incorrect - it wouldn't be the first time that I'd misjudged someone.

I realised that I needed to know more about Jake Wilson. Only then would I know if I could trust him.

"Who are you?" I said, in a less aggressive tone. If I had any chance of getting him to open up, it sure wasn't through antagonising him.

Wilson looked surprised at the question. "I told you before," he said. "My name is Jake Wilson."

"Yeah, I know that," I replied. "But I don't know anything else about you. You're asking me to trust you - how can I do that unless I know who I'm trusting?"

He sighed, and closed his eyes for a moment, as though considering what to say. I stayed quiet, and for the first time I started to feel a little optimistic. Perhaps if I talked him into a friendly mood, he'd bring me out of the cell, and then I'd be able to make a break for it.

"Well, my father is Erebus," Jake said quietly. "What do you know about him?"

I racked my brains, recalling the five books I'd read on Greek mythology when I was ten. "He's the lord of darkness or something."

"He's the personification of the shadows," Jake nodded. "Children of Erebus share many abilities with children of Nyx and Hades, such as the ability to shadow-travel. But I'm the only child of Erebus, and because Erebus is essentially the high lord of shadows, I have more powers over darkness than children of Nyx or Hades."

I nearly blurted out, "That explains your aura," but luckily I thought better, and instead said, "That's how you can randomly appear from nowhere like a freaking ghost?"

Wilson laughed, but it was a strained laugh, laced with anger.

"That's probably the briefest explanation of shadow-travel I've ever heard," he said, still pretending to be amused.

"And your mother?" I said, as fast I could, hoping to catch him off-guard.

I succeeded. Wilson paled, his cheerful mask freezing on his face like a layer of ice hardening on a cold rock. His hand drifted over to where his black sword was strapped to his belt, and his other hand clenched into a tight fist.

"My mother," he half-whispered, half-growled. "She died when I was seven."

I drew in my breath sharply. So this was the well from which his inner darkness sprang.

"How did she die?" I said, very quietly.

"_Apparently_, she died in a car accident," Jake said flatly.

"But…?"

"But the truth is that the gods killed her," he said. "Perhaps they jammed the brakes so that the car would skid. Maybe they caused the car to over-accelerate and run through the red light and into the oncoming truck. Maybe they made sure the ambulance got delayed long enough so she didn't get help in time. I don't know. Who's to say?"

He paused, staring at his shoes. I gulped. No wonder he hated the gods, if he believed they caused his mother's death. But _did_ they kill her?

"How do you know that?" I asked carefully. "How can you be so sure that they killed her?"

"It was shown to me," Jake muttered. His right hand clenched upon the hilt of his sword, and I suddenly felt very aware of how close I was to that ominous blade. "It was made clear to me that the gods did it."

"But…_why_? Why would they do that?"

Suddenly, bizarrely, Jake smiled. His eyes were manic as he looked up at me, and his aura crackled with pure darkness.

"Because they know," he whispered, crouching down. "All those deities up on Olympus? They know. They know that I have the power to bring them down. They know that after all this time, I am the one who will rise against them, and cast them down into the depths of Tartarus where they belong. I am the one who will call forth the shadows and bring in a new age."

I eyed him warily. I could understand his anguish over his mother, but now Wilson was looking nothing short of paranoid.

"Er," I said. "What the heck are you talking about?"

I thought that would make him mad, but he just laughed again. "You really don't know about it, do you?" Wilson said, his tone full of infuriating pity.

"Know about _what_?"

"The prophecy!" he whispered, leaning towards me. "The prophecy that's been kept from the demigods for hundreds of years, the prophecy that supersedes all the others, more important than the Great Prophecies themselves!"

I had no clue what he was talking about, and told him so.

"The first prophecy, Cyrus," he hissed. "The _prontos profiteia_!"

The shadows in the corner behind Jake contorted, and rapidly resolved into the figure of a tall teenager. The darkness receded away from the figure, and it immediately became clear who it was.

Nico di Angelo stood over the still-crouching Jake Wilson, a bronze sword in his hand and an ugly expression on his face, and said, very quietly, "Hi, Jake."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

_"You weren't able to talk sense into him?"_

_"Well, we kind of tried to kill each other in a duel to the death."_

_"I see. You tried the diplomatic approach."_

–Rick Riordan, 'Percy Jackson and the Sea of Monsters'

* * *

For a second, I thought that Nico had Wilson, that it was all over, but the next second, the son of Erebus vanished.

Nico cursed in words that I shall not repeat, and swung the door open. He turned to stare out into the corridor, and suddenly I felt a presence behind me.

"Nico!" I cried out. I tried to jump to my feet, but a hand clamped down on my shoulder, and a cold blade appeared at my throat. I froze.

Nico had turned back around, and was looking over my right shoulder.

"Walk away," Wilson's voice was quiet, but his mouth was right next to my ear, and in the silent tension of the room, he might as well have been shouting. "Walk away now, Nico, or you'll have Cyrus' blood on your hands."

To my intense alarm, Nico shrugged, and stepped forwards. "You won't kill him," he said, his tone dismissive. "You think he's important. You're not going to kill him just to manipulate me."

Wilson's answer was to press the knife against my neck. I could feel the blade pressing into my skin, and a stab of pain went through me like, well, a knife. With alarm, I realised that Wilson's blade was affecting me - unlike the bronze weapons at camp. That black metal was something far more dangerous, far more deadly.

More pain ran through me, and I felt like a small piece of my life was draining away. My neck began to feel numb, and I would've gasped, were it not for the obstruction of my windpipe.

Nico saw all that, and stepped back slowly. He lowered his sword to his side, but still clutched it tightly.

"Keep going," Wilson said airily. I heard a rustle to my left, and I guessed that he was waving his hand in dismissal. "Go back to your godly masters, and tell them that Cyrus Wright works for me now."

_For_? The Dark One had spoken to me like he wanted me to be his partner. Suddenly I was working _for_ him. What was I, the hired help?

I met Nico's eyes, and tried to communicate in my gaze that Wilson was telling lies. The son of Hades nodded ever so slightly, and I prayed to whatever god that existed that he still saw I was on the right side.

Wait a minute. Since when was I thinking in terms of right and wrong?

Wilson took Nico's nod to mean something else, and laughed.

"You see, Nico, not everyone falls for the gods' lies," he said, his tone infuriatingly condescending. "Some of us actually work these things out for ourselves."

Nico's face darkened, and his aura crackled, churning and darkening. He took another step forward, and raised his sword.

"How _dare_ you insinuate that I'm the same as the other half-bloods?" he spat, with surprising venom. "You know _nothing_ of me."

Then, someone's phone rang.

I frowned. Was that… 'Stayin' Alive?'

"What the hell is that?" Wilson said.

Nico laughed. "That, Jake, is the surprise."

I heard a rush of air at the back of the room, and the rustle of clothing. I heard the sound of something rushing through the air, and I heard the impact as a blunt object hit a head. Wilson's knife slipped off my throat as he slumped away from me. Immediately I jumped up, and span around.

Standing right in front of me, with a bronze knife in one hand and a shield in the other, was Jane Welles.

"What—" I started to say, but Nico grabbed me by the shoulder and started to drag me away. Wilson was lying on the ground, dazed, but as I watched, he stirred. Jane hit him over the head with the shield, and glanced up at me.

"Run!" she cried, stepping over the son of Erebus.

I didn't argue. Nico led the way as we ran out of the cell, down a corridor, and right into a dead end.

I opened my mouth to tell my rescuers just what I thought of their navigation skills, when Nico reached up and shoved at a wooden panel overhead. It popped out, making a decent gap to climb through. I closed my mouth, and climbed up after Nico.

We found ourselves in a dark, dusty corner of a large cellar. Small piles of abandoned weapons and armour lay in heaps around the room, and there was a faint tinge of yellow dust in the air.

"Why are we running?" I said suddenly, as Jane climbed through. "Can't you shadow-travel us out?"

Nico bent down and replaced the wooden panel, saying as he did so: "This whole place is warded against me, and I can't use any of my powers in here. We have to get out on foot, up onto the street, and I'll be able to shadow-travel from there."

He straightened up, then paused, turning to Jane.

"But you can shadow-travel, right?" the son of Hades said excitedly. "You can get us out of here!"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I used up everything I had just getting here. I'll be lucky if I don't collapse right now."

I looked at her closely. Sure enough, her eyes were strained and bloodshot, and she was hunched over with exhaustion. Nico sighed, and took off for the other end of the cellar. Jane and I followed, going a little more slowly.

"What are you _doing_ here?" I panted. I wasn't bothered by the running, but I'd been in a small dark room for some time, and I felt a bit disorientated.

"I followed Nico," the daughter of Nyx replied, her expression filling with amusement for a moment. "I heard you got kidnapped, and I wasn't going to let my first friend at camp go get killed."

"She was bored out of her mind and wanted to see some action," Nico called over his shoulder.

Jane scowled, and I laughed.

We reached a door in the cellar wall, but I wouldn't have noticed it if Nico hadn't stopped right in front of it. It was set flush with the wall, and had been painted the exact same colour as the surrounding brickwork, so the only indication that it was there was a thin, faint outline.

"What is this place?" I asked unhelpfully, as Nico searched hurriedly for the door handle.

"Wilson's hideout," he answered. "It's on the outskirts of LA - not far from one of the entrances to the Underworld, actually."

"_What_?" I cried. "_Los Angeles?_"

The door swung open suddenly, and we all jumped. I was about to congratulate Nico on getting it open so quickly, when I saw who was standing on the other side of the door.

"That's right, Cyrus," Jake Wilson declared, raising his sword. "And you'll never leave this state alive."

Nico immediately lunged at the son of Erebus, but Wilson parried quickly, before counterattacking. Jane and I were forced to retreat into the cellar as Nico was driven back by Wilson.

Jane unsheathed her knife, and tensed like she was going to join the fray, but Nico anticipated her, and waved his hand urgently.

"No! Stay back!" the son of Hades called, his tone commanding. Jane looked like she was going to disagree, but I grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back.

Now that we were out of the depths of the dimly-lit underground cell, I could see that Wilson looked tired and drained. His aura was flat and sluggish, and his face was pale with exhaustion. Nico attacked without any compunction or scruple, battering at his opponent. Wilson just barely parried each strike, and made little attempts to counterattack.

Then, the second he had the opportunity, the son of Erebus reached into his pocket and drew out a small object. Before Nico could react, he threw it at the son of Hades's feet.

It went off with a bang, and a small cloud of smoke billowed up. Nico stumbled back, giving Wilson his opportunity. He surged forward, kicked the door shut behind him, and clapped his hands together.

There was the swooshing sound of air being displaced, as a wave of darkness flew out from Wilson's hands like the shockwaves of a bomb. In the blink of an eye, the cellar was completely blanketed in darkness. I squinted, but it was pitch-black. Next to me, I heard Jane clicking something, presumably a flashlight, but it had no effect. The shadows Wilson had called up were more than just ordinary darkness.

"He's gone!" I heard Nico hiss. His voice drew nearer as he moved towards us, and then the son of Hades said, "He's melted into the shadows. I can't see him or sense him or anything."

"Can't you see in the dark?" I heard Jane mutter, her tone making clear her annoyance.

"Of course he can't," Wilson's voice rang out. I whirled about, trying to tell where it was coming from, but it seemed to be projected from the darkness itself. "This place is warded against all children of the Big Three. Percy Jackson himself could storm in here and he'd be no more powerful than a common mortal."

His voice paused, letting that declaration sink in, before adding, "And the daughter of Nyx is drained from excessive shadow-traveling, so you won't be getting much help there. There is no escape. All that you can do is wait to be taken down."

"You're hopelessly overdramatic, Wilson," I growled, staring at a random point in the dark.

"I gave you my offer, Cyrus," the son of Erebus replied evenly. "You have one more chance to take it. Accept it, and your friends will walk away, this time."

"You think I believe that?" I said, scowling deeply, even though no-one could see my expression. "I'm not falling for your reasonable-villain schtick. You want an answer? Here's the only one you're going to get: Hell. No."

There was a long pause, and I could hear nothing except for the two demigods' uneven, worried breathing. Finally, Wilson spoke, his tone now colder and harsher than I'd ever heard it before.

"Fine. You have chosen your side." He paused for another brief moment, before adding, "This is how the war begins."

There was another ominous swooshing sound, and I heard a thud to my right. I turned, heard a scuffle, another thud, then there was silence. I reached out, but there was nothing except empty air.

"Nico?" I called out fearfully. He was the only truly capable one of the three of us, and if he was already gone…

"He's a little unconscious right now," Wilson said nonchalantly. "You should be with him in a moment."

Silence reigned in the dark cellar. I jumped when I felt a hand on my arm, but I realised it was only Jane clutching my sleeve. I jumped again when she whispered, as quietly as possible, in my ear.

"There must be something you can do, Cyrus," she said desperately. "There must be something you have that can get us away."

"There isn't anything," I hissed, feeling irrationally angry. "I'm just an ordinary guy, a mortal or whatever the hell. I have _nothing_. I'm not even meant to be here."

"Then why," she murmured, "does everyone want you to be on their side?"

The bottom of my stomach seemed to float away as the implications of her question drove their way into the depths of my stubborn mind. Both sides, Wilson's and Chiron's, seemed to be desperate that I work with them, that I help them in this coming conflict. I'd wondered why, but I'd never really believed that either of them were right - I just assumed they'd gotten it all wrong.

But maybe they weren't.

Maybe my sight, that thing that I always tried to skirt around, that strange extension of normal vision that I'd avoided even properly considering ever since I watched a demigod be devoured alive in the middle of Central Park, was what set me apart. Not even Nico, a child of one of the most powerful gods in mythology, could see auras without a complex ritual, but I could see them as clear as anything without even trying.

So what if I _did_ try? What could I see? I'd never, ever really explored or thought about the possibility: the associations were too bad, the memories too horrible.

But sooner or later, you have to move on.

I closed my eyes, thoughts running through my head so quickly I could barely keep track of them. No matter what I was looking at, I realised, I saw the true nature of it. If there was an aura, I saw it. If there was a monster, I saw it. No visual illusions could conceal it from my overly perceptive eyes.

So what if Wilson's shadows were just a very strong illusion?

I focussed, pushing away my erratic thoughts, keeping my mind on one idea, one goal: seeing through the darkness. I let go of the barriers I was accustomed to holding between me and my sight, the barriers I'd first established when I was eight years old. I let go of all my inhibitions, just for a moment, and opened my eyes.

For a second, all I could see was more darkness, and my heart sank in disappointment.

Then the shadows began to clear away, like a thick fog dissipating as a fresh breeze broke through it. They faded and weakened, becoming a greyish film over reality, rather than a complete concealment of it. I looked around, and saw Jane standing next to me. I looked in the other direction, towards the back of the cellar, and saw Nico slumped against the wall. Wilson was standing over him, his hand outstretched, his lips moving silently. More shadows were pouring out from his hand and over Nico, wrapping around the son of Hades like a cocoon.

"Stay here," I whispered to Jane. Her eyes focussed on a spot ten feet to the left of my head, and she nodded.

I tiptoed towards Wilson.

His eyes were closed, and his forehead was rumpled with concentration, but I still moved as silently as possible. I spotted a length of wood cast to one side on the cellar floor, and I crouched to pick it up.

My clothes must have rustled ever so slightly, because Wilson paused in his shadow-pouring. I froze, half-bent over with my arm awkwardly extended, and stopped breathing. If the son of Erebus saw me now, I'd have no hope of taking him by surprise. I'd have no hope of doing anything at all.

A second past, but it might as well have been an eternity. Sweat rolled down my nose, and I felt sure that I was going to fall over.

Wilson shook his head ever so slightly, and went back to his shadow-pouring.

I would've breathed a sigh of relief, but I didn't dare make even that sound. I picked up the wood, and kept shuffling towards the son of Erebus, not even daring to straighten up fully.

Perhaps the gods were smiling down upon me that day, or perhaps I'd had so many screwed-up things happen already, the natural balance of the universe had to assert itself. Either way, by some miracle, I made it all the way to the back of the cellar. I paused, made sure I had a good grip on the plank, and swung.

Wilson heard the swoosh of the wood as it made its way through the air, but he he started to turn around far too late. I hit him squarely in the head, and he collapsed. Immediately, the grey remains of the shadows faded, and I felt a previously-unnoticed pain in my head go away as my sight receded. The shadows around Nico broke up, and I woke him up as fast as possible by slapping him in the face.

His eyes snapped open, and he leapt to his feet. Jane was babbling out exclamations of relief, but Nico wasted no time. He ran out of the cellar and into the light, and Jane and I followed.

We didn't look up or down as we passed through Wilson's house. Nico obviously knew the way, because he led us down a hall, up a flight of stairs, down another hall, and through the front door.

We burst out into a front garden. The sky was dark, and I had no idea what time - or even what day - it was. Nico grabbed my hand and Jane's, and tugged us towards the deep shadow that lay underneath the broad tree that dominated the garden.

We plunged into the darkness, and flew away upon the wings of the shadows.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Author's Note: Well, those last sixteen weeks went by fast, didn't they? I feel like I just uploaded this story's first chapter!**

**Firstly, thank you to those who have reviewed (and continue to review) this story. While I am perhaps a little disappointed that more people haven't started following this, I greatly appreciate the loyal followers I do have, and I'm glad that your reaction to the story has been so positive. **

**You will be glad to hear, then, that I am hard at work on the second fic in this saga! As I write this, I have written nine chapters, amounting to around twenty-six thousand words. My hope is to be able to start publishing this in early September, though whether things work out that way is another question. But by all means watch out for that!**

**And now, without any more of my rambling, is the final chapter of this, the opening story in the Piece of Darkness series. Enjoy, and thank you for reading.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

_"Every great magic trick consists of three parts, or acts. The first part is called 'the pledge'. The magician shows you something ordinary: a deck of cards, a bird or a man. He shows you this object. Perhaps he asks you to inspect it, to see if it is indeed real, unaltered, normal. But of course, it probably isn't."_

–Cutter, 'The Prestige'

* * *

Nico took us straight back to camp.

He shadow-travelled us onto the porch of the Big House. Luckily no-one was around, or we might've been responsible for a sudden upturn in the camp's rate of heart attacks. As soon as we landed, Nico led us to Chiron's office.

Even though it was past eleven at night, the centaur was still at his desk. He looked up as we streamed into the room, and though his expression was at first strained and worried, he brightened considerably when he saw we were all unhurt.

"Thank Zeus!" Chiron declared. He gave us a moment to catch our breath, before launching into the usual set of worried questions. Are you alright, are you dying, are you injured, do you need a healer, etc., etc. Once he was done with those, he dismissed Jane, sending her to bed with a stern word but a kind eye, and gestured for Nico and I to sit down.

We sat in silence for a few moments, as Chiron scribbled down a few notes in a large file. Then, he closed it with a snap that made me jump (I was still on edge, okay?), and smiled at us.

"Firstly, well done, Nico, retrieving Cyrus," he began.

A question that had flitted through my mind when we'd been escaping now returned to me.

"How on earth did you find me?" I asked Nico incredulously.

He shrugged, as though the whole thing had been as simple as making a slice of toast.

"Your mom phoned us when you didn't come home," Nico said.

(I filed the fact that my mom had camp's phone number away in my mind for future interrogations that I would no doubt have to inflict.)

"I figured Jake must've taken you," the son of Hades went on. "My father's been monitoring all shadow-travel activity since the Flame was stolen, so I IM-ed him. He found that a shadow-travel was made from near your house. After that, all I had to do was trace the journey to its destination, go there myself, find Jake's house, sneak past his security monsters, kill them when they noticed me, find you, deal with Jake, and get out."

"Wow," I said drily. "That sounds so easy. A monkey could've done it!"

Nico gave me a dark but vaguely approving glance. Perhaps he liked my brand of sarcasm.

"And what of Jake Wilson?" Chiron asked. "Did you encounter him?"

Nico opened his mouth to start recounting the events of the rescue, but glanced at me, closed his mouth, and nodded, handing me the floor.

"He was there," I confirmed. "He ambushed me, drugged me, shadow-travelled me, tied me up in a dark room, and tried to make me join his Brotherhood of Megalomania." I paused, before adding, "But apart from that, he's a great guy!"

"And…" Chiron said, his tone hesitant, "did you…?"

Immediately I caught his meaning, and shook my head.

"I hit him over the head with a plank of wood," I said, "but that was all the damage we could do. We were lucky to escape at all. He's able to pull some seriously freaky tricks with his whole son-of-shadows thing."

"How so?" Chiron said, looking at me sharply.

I told him about the darkness Wilson had placed over us, and about the various other tricks he'd pulled. When I finished, Chiron drew in his breath slowly.

"This isn't good," he said, rubbing his forehead. "Children of Erebus never signify a good future, and I have not seen a child of Erebus with that kind of power in many centuries. This is…" He trailed off, staring into space.

"It was only because of Cyrus's sight that we escaped," Nico said, his tone full of uncharacteristic admiration.

"Is that so?" Chiron said quietly.

"I was able to use my sight to look through Wilson's shadows," I said, trying not to sound like I was boasting. "It took a little effort, and I had to push myself, but I managed to do it."

This information didn't seem to make Chiron feel any better. In fact, he buried his face in his hands, and seemed so depressed, one would think I'd just told him that his mother had died. Nico and I exchanged puzzled glances.

We sat like that for a couple of minutes. Neither Nico nor I dared to break the silence, and Chiron was lost in considerations that were clearly neither cheering nor hopeful.

"What did Jake say to you?" he said suddenly, not looking up.

I hesitated. I knew that if I told them the truth, if I revealed how far against the gods Jake had turned and how he'd wanted me to do the same, there was no going back. By telling Chiron, I knew, I was choosing sides, throwing my lot in with those people who I'd walked away from only a few weeks ago.

I realised that I'd never really given Wilson a final answer - then again, walloping someone with a plank of wood sent a pretty clear message. I'd always known that I could never join the son of Erebus, even though I didn't fully understand what his cause was. But did that mean I was on the side of the gods? Was this one of those "you're either with us or against us" choices?

I remembered the alarm I'd felt, deep down in that cellar, as Wilson had started to pick us off. The fear I'd felt for my friends…

I realised that I was calling Nico and Jane my friends. I hadn't consciously decided to - so on some deep level, I'd accepted them as my friends. I thought of how I'd had no friends, at least no real ones, less than a month ago, and I knew that I'd already made my choice.

Maybe I didn't fully believe in the gods, maybe I didn't fully understand why Wilson was the bad guy, maybe I didn't fully accept my sight, but I did know that if I didn't do the right thing now, I would never, ever be able to live with myself.

"He wanted me to join with him, and fight with him against the gods," I said quietly.

Chiron raised his head slowly, and met my eyes. "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him," I said, looking back at the ancient trainer of heroes, "no."

Chiron held my gaze for a moment, and I felt like he was looking deep into me. I didn't know if centaurs were able to see auras, but at that moment, it sure felt like it. Finally, he nodded, and looked away. A sense of relief spread over me, and I sensed that that was it - I'd left the fence and stood upon the side of the gods.

"So," Chiron said, sitting up straight again, "does this mean that you've accepted your sight?"

_Wow_, I thought. _This guy sure knows how to ask the hard questions_.

I considered what he'd said. I hadn't even recognised just how much I'd been repressing my sight until that moment in Wilson's cellar. I'd let down the barriers on that occasion, but did that mean I'd fully accepted my strange ability to look deep into everything, to see the true and unconcealed nature of whatever was put in front of me? After all, over six years of denial and avoidance was a lot to get over.

"No," I answered, shaking my head. "I haven't fully accepted it, and I don't know when I will, _if_ I will. But that's not important - all that matters is that I'm not going to let my dislike of it determine what choices I make."

It was only when I said that that I realised how, when I'd left camp, I hadn't really been running from Chiron or the gods - I'd been running from my own nature.

"I see," Chiron said, his expression thoughtful. "But I think your decision does mean you'll be staying with us, here at camp?"

I nodded.

"Good, good," he said. "Though I would advise you to keep away from nectar and ambrosia."

Chiron laughed, and Nico joined in. I didn't get the joke, and looked at them blankly.

(Blank looks are another one of my great skills.)

"You'll resume your training tomorrow, then, I think," the centaur said, returning to business. "It would be a good idea to get back to the sword-fighting right away, although I think it's best if you have a new teacher, wouldn't you say, Nico?"

I glanced at the son of Hades, who had a knowing look on his face.

"Oh yes, Chiron," he said, grinning.

"Well, then, that's everything," Chiron said, yawning. "You'd better go off to bed. Sleep tight!"

We said our goodnights, and left the farmhouse. My last thought as we walked away was that these mythological types sure dealt with life-and-death experiences very briefly and succinctly. I guess it's all a matter of routine when you're the relative of an ancient immortal being who gets his kicks from throwing around lightning bolts.

"Remember you said that I had to choose between being a knight or a pawn?" I said to the son of Hades.

He nodded.

"I figured pawns can't move fast enough," I said.

Nico laughed, a curious thing to see from someone normally so serious.

Before he left me to go into his cabin, Nico said, "I'm glad you followed my advice."

I eyed him, and said, "So am I."

I paused, then added, "At least, I _think_ I am."

Nico laughed again, and turned away.

"That's the problem with answering to yourself," he said over his shoulder. "You never know when to stop finding questions to answer."

* * *

My appearance at breakfast the next morning caused a little commotion.

I arrived a little late, having woken up to find the Hermes cabin staring at me in astonishment. I suppose, given how I'd vanished mysteriously in the middle of the night, and then _returned_ mysteriously in the middle of the night, their surprise was understandable. By the time I'd gotten through their questions (read: dodged their questions as much as possible), it was ten minutes past the start of breakfast.

As a result, I arrived into the pavilion right in front of most of the camp, which probably made me look like I was trying to make a grand, attention-seeking comeback, but there was nothing I could do about that. I kept my head down and went to the Hermes table with the rest of my cabin. I wondered, as I sat down, whether I would be staying with Hermes, or if Chiron would invent some new designation just for weirdo clear-sighted mortals like me.

Anna led the charge over breakfast as she tried to squeeze some more information out of me.

"So what made you change your mind?" she asked for the tenth time.

"Well, Anna," I said slowly, "it _may_ have had something to do with being kidnapped."

Despite the fact that I'd already given this exact answer five times already, most of the Hermes campers laughed heartily.

"But you're _really_ not a demigod?" Anna said, for the fifteenth time.

I tried to think of a different way to phrase the answer I'd given the last fourteen times and, unsurprisingly, I decided to be a bit more sarcastic.

"No," I replied, peering at the Hermes campers over the top of my cup, "I'm actually a child of Hecate, and am so wonderfully gifted I can make it _look_ like a sword passed through my arm."

Anna and her siblings gawped at me.

Just then, Chiron rose to his feet and called for silence.

I watched with a slight murmur of nervousness rustling through my mind. The last time I'd seen Chiron quietening the pavilion, it had been to announce the theft of the Flame of Olympus. Could Wilson have already caused more chaos? Was my decision to help the camp in whatever war was coming about to be tested?

"I have a happy announcement to make," Chiron declared, immediately silencing my worries. "Someone who left us a few weeks ago has now returned. Please, welcome back to camp Cyrus Wright."

He waved his hand in my direction, and almost every single teenage head turned towards me. I carefully kept my eyes fixed on Chiron and Mr. D, who was wearing the expression of supreme boredom that seemed to be his personal trademark.

"As most of you have no doubt realised," Chiron continued, "Cyrus is not a demigod or a demititan, or even a legacy. He is, in fact, entirely mortal, though he does have very clear sight."

The silence that followed this statement was somewhat alarming. Around a third of the campers looked confused, another third looked puzzled but interested, and the last third looked plain angry.

"Now, this may be a little unorthodox—" Chiron started to say, but he was cut off by my old friend Zack Walker, who'd risen to his feet.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" he cried, his expression and tone both making clear his complete dislike of this development. "We're going to train a _mortal_? Someone who has _no_ godly blood, _no_ powers, no _concept_ of what it's like to be a half-blood?"

His grey eyes swept across the pavilion, before meeting mine. I wished I could stare back in defiance, but I wasn't able to completely discount what Zack had said. While he wasn't exactly being diplomatic, the son of Athena was raising a valid point.

"I understand your concerns, Zack," Chiron said in a placatory tone. "The situation is very unusual. However, I must ask you to take into account the fact that there are forces and events at work here that no-one here fully understands, not even I."

Zack remained standing for a moment more, his eyebrows scrunched up in anger. He met Chiron's eyes, though, and dropped back down into his seat - but his expression made it clear that he wasn't satisfied, and as I looked around at the various tables, I could see that he wasn't alone.

"That's all you need to know," Chiron said, glancing uneasily at Zack. "For the moment, Cyrus will stay with the Hermes cabin, and I must ask all of you to treat him like you'd treat anyone else. Remember that being a child of a god does not put you above those of regular birth."

His stern gaze swept over the tables one last time, before he sank back down into his own seat.

"Well," I said to Anna, "it looks like you're stuck with me!"

* * *

When breakfast finished and the campers were dispersing, floating off to their activities, Kevin appeared.

"Hey!" he said, making me jump by clapping me on the shoulder. "I seriously didn't think I'd see you again."

"Well, here I am," I replied, smiling. "I applied for the camp's foreign students program."

"Why did you come back here?" the son of Ares asked. We turned and started to make our way out of the pavilion.

"I guess I felt like I had to," I said. "Being kidnapped by a crazy son of Erebus has a way of altering one's priorities."

"You were _kidnapped_?" he exclaimed.

In as few words as possible, I explained the events of the day before. His eyes widened as I went through the kidnapping and rescue, and by the end he looked truly astonished.

"I'm jealous," Kevin said, as I finished recounting my harrowing tale.

I said nothing, but just stared at him blankly.

"Look, I like a bit of action, okay?" he said, looking awkward. "And I've never been in the field like that."

"Well there'll be plenty of fights coming if Chiron and Wilson are right," I muttered. "They both say that a war's coming."

"_Really?_"

"Yeah," I nodded, as we reached the edge of the pavilion, and stopped. "Looks like you'll get to use that strategising ability of yours!"

Kevin's smile faded, and he suddenly took a great interest in his boots. "Yeah, I dunno about that," he muttered.

"Why?"

"Well…" he shifted from foot to foot, looking deeply uncomfortable. "While you were… away, there was a capture-the-flag game, and I messed up the strategy. Zack's team won, and he hasn't stopped bragging about it ever since."

My dislike for Zack deepened immediately. What a stuck-up, selfish, snobby…

"It's okay, Kevin," I said, trying not to let my anger seep into my tone. "We all make mistakes, you know. All you need is confidence." I hesitated, before saying, "I'll help you."

Kevin looked in my eyes again, his expression brightening. "You will?"

I nodded, wondering what I was getting myself into. "Sure," I said. "I'm good at seeing patterns. I can help you get through your strategist's block."

"Wow, thanks, Cyrus," he said, grinning. "You're cool."

"That's got to be the first time I've been called 'cool'," I quipped.

"You're good with words, too," Kevin went on, apparently fixed on the bizarre goal of singing my praises.

"Well, I ought to be," I muttered. "I want to be a writer."

* * *

Chiron wasn't lying about getting me a new sword-fighting tutor.

When I arrived at the arena, I also realised what Chiron and Nico's knowing glances had been about.

My new teacher was Percy Jackson.

I approached slowly, watching in amazement as the apparently laid-back son of Poseidon tore a practice dummy to shreds. His bright blue aura crackled with intensity as he whirled around the straw enemy, and he looked like a truly fearsome opponent.

It would be reasonable to say that I had _not_ been expecting this.

I was about to clear my throat to announce my presence, but Percy span around a second before I did.

"You're a… teacher?" I said, gaping at him.

He grinned, turned, decapitated the dummy, faced me again, and declared, "Part-time!"

We spent the majority of the day going through so many different strokes, techniques and stances, I felt dizzy if I tried to think about them too much. Perhaps something had happened during my experience with Wilson, or perhaps Percy was a much better teacher than Clarisse, but I found the sword-fighting easier. It didn't feel like as much of an uphill battle, and Percy's goofy, almost overly-cheerful teaching method made the whole thing really enjoyable and absolutely crazy.

Finally, when the conch shell for dinner blew, Percy declared an end to the lessons.

"That's all!" he said, making his sword disappear by what I could only assume was magic.

"That's it now, right?" I gasped, utterly exhausted. "I won't have to come back for a while now, right?"

The son of Poseidon paused, and grinned.

"Oh, no, Cyrus," Percy Jackson said cheerfully. "This isn't it. No, this is nothing. This," he waved his hand at the arena in general, "this is just the beginning."


	17. Epilogue

**Author's Note: And heeeeere's another one!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson. All my fanfic writings are non-profit. 'Tis all for fun.**

* * *

**Piece of Darkness I - A Knight or a Pawn**

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

"What— _who_ are you?" I asked, feeling a little overwhelmed by this Lilliputian-sized being's appearance.

"I am a eudaemon," she said happily, a smile clear even on her tiny face.

"A what?" I said blankly.

"A good spirit," she replied promptly. "I am, in fact, a spirit of knowledge, self-knowledge to be exact. That is why I am named Amichanos."

"Amichanos," I echoed blankly.

"You can call me Ami if you prefer," Amichanos added obligingly.

I still felt disorientated from my abrupt journey across the Fields, so my mind was moving slowly, and this new discovery wasn't helping. I felt a headache finally starting to build behind my eyes as I tried to process things.

"What are you doing down _here_?" I asked finally, as my thoughts began to gain a little order.

For the first time, Amichanos looked a little sad.

"There are many spirits like me out here in the Place of Nothing," she said solemnly, her orange aura dimming a little. "Eudaemons such as I are not welcome in the world above. Knowledge is not prized by the people of earth as it should be, especially self-knowledge. Several decades ago, I had no choice to take refuge down here, in the furthest reaches of the West."

I got down onto my hunkers, so that I was looking up at the diminutive - but somehow reassuring - spirit. "What would have happened to you if you'd stayed up above?" I asked.

"In time, I would have faded," Ami said, casting her eyes, which glistened green in the light of her own aura, downwards. "As it is, I do not have much of an existence, but I do at least exist."

I scratched my head, not quite able to believe that I was in this bizarre situation. I felt like I was trapped in a bad adaptation of Alice in Wonderland.

"So I guess there's more out here in the Fields of Silence than Hades thought," I said, half to myself, half to the spirit.

"Indeed," Ami replied, nodding. "It's easy to say that there's nothing at all in an area that is completely unexplored. Humans have been saying things like that for centuries."

I considered Amichanos thoughtfully. Though she was diminutive, her voice carried far, no doubt due to her having some small level of power. Her presence was oddly calming, too, despite her small size. I felt rather glad to have ended up here in her hideout, but _why_ I'd ended up here was a much more puzzling point.

And, I mused, if there's anyone whom you should ask puzzling questions, it's spirits of knowledge.

"Amichanos," I said, slightly hesitantly. "How did I get here?"

The spirit peered down at me with serious, knowledgeable eyes.

"Why, because I hold the answers you seek, of course," she said.

A chill of anticipation ran down my back.

"What answers?" I said slowly, even though, deep down, I knew _exactly_ what answers.

"The answers to the questions that plague you," Amichanos answered immediately. "The truth about who you are. You landed here, far from your original destination, because your soul led you to the only being in the Fields of Silence who can explain to you the real nature of your power, and who can reveal to you, at last, the truth about your pure sight."

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**IN**

**PIECE OF DARKNESS II - GAMBIT**

**September 6th, 2013**


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